The Moors of Roane Hall
by KaitlynRose
Summary: Post Ep. 4.3. Sherlock, John and Molly are all moving forward with their lives. Not everything is easy but Sherlock is trying his best. When an old school mate from boarding school shows up looking for help a new game is on, one with a serial killer intent on killing love itself.
1. Getting On With It

Author's Note: I do not own Sherlock. I am not profiting from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Chapter 1~Getting On With It**

Sherlock entered John's flat with an almost smirk on his face. He was still staying with John while work on 221B was being done. It had been two weeks since the bomb. Two weeks since his sister had tried to scramble Sherlock's brain and murder everyone else. Two weeks since he had told Molly that he loved her.

Sherlock should be miserable. His sister had turned his entire world upside down, but oddly enough, Sherlock wasn't miserable. Even though Euros had ripped his life to pieces, he actually owed her a debt of gratitude. The ridiculousness of that thought made Sherlock's almost grin turn into a soft smile.

Usually something like this would have made Sherlock tense, neurotic even. He didn't like to have his tidy life laid open, exposed, vulnerable. So what was different this time? He leaned back on the doorframe and closed his eyes. Instantly she was there, in his mind palace, smiling at him. Molly Hooper. His Molly. His little pathologist. _Because a relationship will complete you as human being._ Sherlock had scoffed when John had said those words to him. Sherlock truly didn't know what the hell that was even supposed to mean at the time.

But John had been right. Of course he had picked the wrong woman. It was never Irene Adler. True, she was a puzzle of a woman that had kept Sherlock on his toes, so to speak, but at the end it was Molly. It was always Molly. She was the one that counted.

"Are you going to come inside or stand in the doorway all day?" John asked.

Sherlock looked over to see John standing in the kitchen holding Rosie.

"Oh, I don't know. It is a rather lovely entry way." Sherlock shrugged off his long coat and hung it on the rack.

"So how was it then?" John asked.

"How was what?" Sherlock asked, though he knew precisely what John was inquiring about.

"Don't be daft. How was your lunch date with Molly?" John set Rosie in her highchair so she could eat her lunch.

"It was nice," Sherlock replied. He walked over to Rosie, sat down and began to spoon mashed carrots and peas into her mouth. He was becoming quite the natural at this.

"Nice? Just, nice? Spending time with your grandmother is nice. Playing fetch with a dog is nice. Surely you can do better than that?" John said.

"Oh, all right," Sherlock replied. "If it will shut you up, lunch was very pleasant. It is no secret I enjoy Molly's company. Things have been much less complicated since we talked about, you know, the phone call."

"You were lucky Mycroft was able to show Molly the security feed from Sherrinford. It made explaining much easier I imagine." John sat down at the table with a cup of tea and a ham sandwich for himself. If Sherlock were going to feed Rosie then John would take the opportunity to feed himself.

"Yes, but," Sherlock stopped with a sigh.

"But what?" John asked.

"I regret Molly had to witness that. True, the phone call caused her pain, but seeing the events of that day unfold before her own eyes was equally painful for her, possibly more so. I don't like for her to be…"

"Sad," John supplied, when he realized his intellectual friend was struggling to find a very simple word.

"Sad," Sherlock confirmed with a nod. Before Sherlock could get lost in negative memories Rosie squealed and gave her Uncle Sherlock a big smile, one that Sherlock couldn't help but return.

John was amazed at how easily Sherlock let his guard down with Rosie. No one could break down those walls faster than she could. All she had to do was laugh and Sherlock's darkest of moods was instantly lifted. John swore to himself that he would never take Rosie away from Sherlock ever again.

He still felt guilt when he thought about how he treated his best friend after Mary died. True, John had lost his wife, and her loss was still with him every damn day, but Sherlock had lost Mary too, and then in the same moment he lost John and Rosie. Even Molly had been lost to Sherlock initially because she was watching Rosie so much after losing Mary.

John hadn't just abandoned Sherlock; John had robbed him of all human connection, not to mention he then gave him a broken nose, several large gashes to his face, and three cracked ribs. John was just grateful that in the morgue there had been people there to stop him. He wondered just how close he had come to possibly killing Sherlock that day? _No, let him. He's entitled._ Sherlock didn't even try to fight back. His best friend was willing to lie there and let John release all the anger that had built inside him, no matter the consequences to his own body or mind.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked. He was looking at John very closely, trying to deduce his sudden change in demeanor.

John shook his head suddenly, trying to dispel the images there. "Yeah, yeah sorry, was just thinking about something." Needing to deflect Sherlock's attention he asked, "So, when are you and Molly going to see each other again?"

"I'm not sure," Sherlock replied. "We did not set a specific time commitment at the end of our lunch date. Should I have done that?" Sherlock wondered if he had done something wrong.

"No, it wasn't necessary," John told him. "This is new territory for you. It is probably best that you two let things happen normally."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and John didn't need to be a consulting detective to know he was thinking of Molly, seeing her face in his mind palace. With his eyes still closed he said, "I do love her. I want to do this right, but honestly, this is me we are talking about. I want to be a better man for her, but I am not sure how to change or even if I can change to be the better man that she deserves."

"Molly loves you for who you are," John told him. "She knows you better than anyone. She knows you can be an ass. She knows you can be self-absorbed. She knows the good and the bad, and she is still here. She doesn't need you to change. Just make sure you remember her is all. Never let the case become so important that you forget she is still there waiting for you. If you take her with you to a case, don't just hop in a taxi and leave her standing there, alone trying to find her own way home."

"Sorry about that," Sherlock replies sheepishly.

"Yes, well, when you become frustrated or depressed, or whatever you are feeling, don't hide it from her." John continued. "Shutting Molly out won't make you stronger and it won't protect her from pain. If you want to make Molly happy, all you have to do is let him in."

Clearly confused, Sherlock repeated, "Let her in?"

"Yes, at first you resisted sharing the thoughts that swirled about in that big brain of yours. You would drag me along but not tell me anything, keeping all the details close to the chest so you could have this big reveal at the end and I would oh and ah. As time passed though, you stopped trying to impress me and began to let me work with you. At some point you stopped treating me as your blogger/fan and actually treated me like a friend, like family. You let me in, and then you let Mary and even Rosie into your life. You were still an ass, but you were a lovable ass."

Sherlock chuckled, "So I need to be a lovable ass to Molly."

"You might want to aim a little higher than that. Just don't view Molly as a weakness. She is smart, quick, and able to see through your bullshit. She has proven her usefulness to you time and time again. Now give her the chance to love you. Let her be there for you not just as a colleague but as something significantly more."

Sherlock nodded his head ever so slightly. "Thank you, John. Really, thank you."

"You're welcome. Oh, and little things, little things matter."

"Such as?" Sherlock inquired.

"Oh you know, the occasional bouquet of flowers for no reason, a small piece of jewelry just because, remembering birthdays and anniversaries. All women care about that, not just Mary or Molly. Women like to know that in the middle of the day, no matter how busy you are, at some point, you think of them, miss them a bit."

Sherlock smiled slightly. It was true, he often thought of Molly, many times through out the day. Of course he had never told anyone that. Why would he? Back then no one knew the true depths of his feelings for his pathologist.


	2. Not All Roommates are Good Ones

Chapter 2~Not all Roommates are Good Ones

It had been two weeks since 221B Baker Street had been finally restored. John, Sherlock and Rosie had moved in the next day. John mounted the stairs to the flat with his arms full of groceries wondering for the hundredth time why it was that he was always the one in charge of purchasing food. Just once couldn't Sherlock do the grocery shopping? After all, John was the one with the real job that required him to show up and work actual hours. It had been a full day's work too!

He pushed the door to the flat open about to let Sherlock have a piece of his mind but the man in question was not in the room. He dropped the heavy bags down on the table, one that was devoid of experiments for once, and went in search of Sherlock and Rosie.

He stopped in the doorway to his and Rosie's room. There was the famous Sherlock Holmes in the middle of changing Rosie's nappy and making funny noises to her. Rosie had learned how to make raspberry noises with her tongue and Sherlock was making the noises back to her in return. The whole scene was entirely domestic and quite hilarious when one realized this was indeed Sherlock Holmes, blowing raspberries while changing a poopy nappy. John smiled, shook his head, and went back to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

On his way something caught his eye. There was a new chair in the main room and a small table. The chair was next to Sherlock's and the small table sat between the two of them. The chair was an overstuffed one, with pale yellow fabric that sported large cabbage roses on it. Laid across the back of the chair was a folded ivory blanket. John ran his fingers over the blanket and raised a brow at how soft the thick blanket felt. He knew at once whom the chair and blanket belonged too.

It had not gone unnoticed by John that when he and Sherlock redid the flat Sherlock had made some changes. The most obvious was the baby proofing of the place. Now that Rosie was toddling about he couldn't have his experiments and severed limbs lying around. He had moved all of it to a space in St. Bart's that Molly had set up for him. The new arrangement meant that Sherlock and Molly spent a lot of time together at the hospital.

But then there were the other changes as well, especially to Sherlock's room. The bedrooms had been spared damage from the blast, however all the bedding and curtains reeked of smoke and had to be replaced. The new items Sherlock purchased were a striking contrast to what had been in his rather plain looking room before. The new curtains were the palest of yellow, and for the bed he had purchased ivory sheets and a thick down blanket with a matching pale yellow duvet cover. John had thought the purchase odd, but he didn't understand the full meaning behind it until this very moment. Sherlock Holmes was slowly moving Molly Hooper into his life, just as John had told him too.

"I thought we could use another seat…for company," Sherlock announced, Rosie planted firmly on his hip.

"Yes, that was smart of you," John replied. No more was spoken about the new furniture. No more needed to be said.

The next day, an anxious Sherlock paced back and forth across the flat. "Boring," Sherlock grumbled as he tossed another potential client out of the flat. "I need a new case, at least a seven," he whined.

"Yes, well you've had nine clients today and you dismissed them all. There isn't much I can do to fix this," John said exasperatedly. "Perhaps you should just give in for today and go check on your experiments at the hospital." John had adopted this strategy to deal with an irritable Sherlock and usually it worked, unfortunately not today.

"I can't," Sherlock muttered.

"Why not?"

"Today is Molly's day off, and apparently the other staffers at the morgue don't appreciate my talents the way she does."

John couldn't help it, he laughed. "Banned you already have they?"

"No, not banned, simply informed to only come when Molly is there."

"Then why don't you call Molly and spend some time with her."

"Molly is visiting with one of her friends from Uni today. Someone named Patricia. She is only in town for three days and today was the only opportunity for Molly to see her."

"I see," John said and picked up the newspaper. He took a sip of his tea but almost spit it out as he unfolded the front page.

"What?" Sherlock asked. Sherlock looked down at the paper and his eyes opened wide. There on the cover in the bottom corner was a story about him, but not just him, it was about him and Molly!

 _London's Most Famous Consulting Detective is in Love_ the headline read. Then there was a picture of him and Molly crossing the street to Angelo's arm in arm with Molly looking up at him and he looking down at her. The second picture was even more intrusive. A photographer had snapped a picture of Sherlock and Molly standing on the stairs to her flat while Sherlock was giving her a good night kiss. The photo showed Sherlock with one arm around her waist and his other hand tangled in her hair. Molly had her arms wrapped around his neck with her head tipped back.

Sherlock's lips suddenly tingled, feeling the kiss once more upon his mouth. It had been a most pleasant moment in his life, but seeing it plastered on the front of the daily news made the moment feel scandalous. Sherlock was shocked by the anger that suddenly raced through him. Usually he was oblivious to the reports of his doings in the papers but this different. This was Molly, his Molly. Then another thought crossed his mind.

"They are following us!" Sherlock exploded. "How dare they!"

"Calm down, take a breathe before you do something rash," John warned. "You had to know that this would draw attention eventually. Sherlock Holmes is a celebrity. You may not think of yourself as that, but much of London, hell most of England, does. There is a reason we get so many clients coming through that door. It was only a matter of time before the papers reported on you and Molly."

"Still, this is all so new, so recent. Molly and I, we, I don't know if she is ready for this to be so, so public!" Sherlock was truly worried about Molly's reaction to the article. Would she want the world to know that she was dating Sherlock?

"I think Molly will be okay," John said. John suspected that Molly would happily shout from the rooftops that she was in love with Sherlock Holmes, especially if she thought Sherlock would shout it back to her.

A knock at the door drew both their attention. John got up and opened it welcoming in a possible client.

"Hello," John said.

"Hello, uh, I am looking for Sherlock Holmes," a man's voice said slowly.

"Then you are in the right place," John replied.

Sherlock looked up and instantly recognized the new client. His mind flashed back to boarding school, age nine, and his roommate Dickey Thurgood, son of shipping magnate Sir Richard Thurgood. Dickey had been a horrid roommate to Sherlock, teasing him and ganging up on him ruthlessly the two years they roomed together.

Dickey now looked up at Sherlock and plastered a fake smile onto his face.

"Hey, Sherlock, how are you doing? Long time no see!" Dickey thrust out his hand, ready to give Sherlock's a shake. In that moment Sherlock took note of the Italian leather shoes, the wool and cashmere blend coat, the custom tailored suit, the manicured hands and hair, and even the bit of dog hair at the cuffs of Dickey's pant legs. Apparently Dickey was living the good life still.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows. "Do I know you?"

Both John and Dickey looked confused.

"Sherlock, it's me, Richard Thurgood. We roomed together for two years at boarding school."

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell," Sherlock replied, taking a bit of pleasure at how Dickey's face fell slightly, the look of embarrassment he was obviously feeling with John watching the exchange.

"How can you not remember me?"

"Well, it has been brought to my attention recently that due to a childhood trauma I have rewritten some of my memories. Apparently I have written you out," Sherlock replied matter of fact. "Don't take it personal. I wrote out my own sister as well."

"Oh," Dickey said, looking a bit bewildered. "Well, uh, we were roommates, back when we were 8 and 9, or 9 and 10. Something like that."

"I see," Sherlock said. "Did I call you Richard?"

"Uh, no, in fact. Back then most people called me Dickey, since my father was known as Richard. I hated that nickname."

"Ah, yes, I do remember a Dickey. I believe it might be coming back to me. You are the boy who thought it would be endlessly funny to have some of the bigger boys flush my head in the toilet."

"Uh, yeah, um, sorry bout that. We were just kids back then. You know, kids, they do stupid stuff, practical jokes."

"Yes, and I suppose it was a practical joke when you hid most of my clothes under a pile of horse manure in the stables," Sherlock continued.

"Okay, I get where this is going," Dickey said. "I admit it, I was an ass to you back then, a real ass. I can apologize now for my actions but I know that won't undo the humiliation I caused you. Trust me, it was not easy for me to come here today knowing how badly I treated you back then. Just try to imagine how desperate I must be to come here, of all places, and humiliate myself in front of you and Dr. Watson, and to beg for your help."

"I haven't heard any begging yet," Sherlock smirked.

Dickey took a deep settling breath and continued, "Fine, Sherlock, I am most desperate for your assistance and I am begging you to come to Scotland and help me."

"Scotland?" John asked.

"Yes, that's where I live, Roane Hall, and that is where all the problems are happening," Dickey explained.

"You have exactly three minutes to explain yourself and you better hope this is at least a seven," Sherlock said.

"A seven?" Dickey asked.

"Two minutes and fifty-four seconds," Sherlock announced.

"Yes, okay. I live in Sutherland, Scotland with my wife, Lady Ainsley Thurgood. The home has been in her family for seven generations. The castle,"

"Excuse me, did you say castle?" John asked.

"Yes, anyway, the castle backs up to the moors, but the village is down the road to the front. Anyway, in the past three months there have been three murders, two tourists, and one local, all women. The first was in mid-August, the second in September, and the third in October. Then, last week, one of our maids was found murdered out on the moor. The police have no suspects, no leads, and the entire village is suffering because of it. Remote villages like Sutherland depend on tourism to exist. The kirk is a beautiful ancient cathedral dating back hundreds of years, as does the castle. During the summer months the village is full of hikers, sportsmen, and bridal parties."

"Why bridal parties?" John asked.

"Because, John, every woman wants to be married in a castle," Sherlock supplied. "I imagine the castle, the cathedral, the rolling hills all make for a young bride's dream come true."

"Yes, yes it does," Dickey agreed.

"Let me guess, the first two, August and September, were they brides? Tourists?"

"Yes," Dickey confirmed.

"But the last two have been locals, implying the female tourists are no longer available and the killer has been forced to kill his own neighbors."

"Dear god," Dickey said and ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair. Sherlock could se that Dickey was indeed most upset about the murders, but part of him truly wondered why? Was he simply worried about his wife becoming a target, or was there a deeper involvement.

"So, why are you here, exactly? Why aren't the police asking Scotland Yard for help?" John asked.

"The villagers are looking to us to fix this problem. Because we are so remote our police force only consists of two officers. The county judge is also a sheep farmer," Dickey said with a choked laugh. "My wife's estate is the main source of income for the village, but now wedding parties are calling and cancelling, as are the outdoorsmen. Who wants to summer in a village where there is apparently a serial killer on the loose looking to prey on unsuspecting women? Technically this season is over, since it is now November, but reservations for next year are almost non-existent. This mess has to be cleared up as fast as possible or come next summer the village will be ruined," Dickey explained.

"What aren't you telling me?" Sherlock asked. "Forgive me for saying so Dickey, but I find it hard to believe that you are here just because of financial worry for the village. You're worth a fortune. If the village went under I doubt it would even catch your attention. You and Lady Thurgood could afford to go live anywhere. Why stay in a drafty old castle?"

"Sherlock, I'm not ten anymore. I admit, I was an ass back then, but I have grown up damn it. I love my wife, more than anything, and she loves her home and the village. She wants our children to grow up there, but right now she is terrified. I told you that the two tourists were brides, but the local woman just happened to be the mother of Cecilia's best friend. Cecilia is my six-year-old daughter. Then, last week, the maid I spoke of. Well, Jane was my wife's ladies maid."

"Ladies maid, I didn't know people still did stuff like that anymore," John said.

"My wife is very traditional. She was raised a certain way. Plus, Jane was more than someone who selected my wife's clothes for dinner. She was a friend, a confidant, more like a personal secretary really. My wife head's several charitable foundations and organizes many fundraisers throughout the year. It requires a great deal of time and work."

"Fine, I will take the case," Sherlock said.

"You will! Oh thank god," Dickey replied. "You and Dr. Watson can stay with us at Roane Hall. I dare say my wife's sister, Angelica, is dying to meet you. She is a huge fan."

"No, that won't work," Sherlock replied. "Living with you would prove too distracting. How close is the village to the moor? Is it in walking distance? I imagine there are several bed and breakfasts in town."

"If it were summer, and the dry season, I would say yes, but as it is now November and bitterly cold and wet I would have to say no. You would be better served at Roane Hall."

Sherlock held his fingers up to his chin in the steeple fashion John had seen a million times. Sherlock was deep in thought.

"Roane Hall serves as a bridal destination. I assume that means you probably have some pretty little cottages on the property to service the newlyweds, and the parents of the bride and groom?"

"Yes, we do in fact. There are six of them." Dickey said.

"Is one larger than the others? Multiple bedrooms?"

"Number four is like a small house. There are three bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. Will that do?" Dickey asked.

"Yes, that will work perfectly," Sherlock replied. "Do have the place ready. My party and I will be arriving in two days."

A look of pure relief covered Dickey's face. "No problem. I can't tell you how…" Dickey didn't get to finish the sentence as Sherlock was already shoving him out the door and slamming it in his face.

Sherlock took two steps away from the door and actually gave a small jump, "Yes! A serial killer! This is at least an 8! John, the game is on!"

"Uh, Sherlock," John interrupted before Sherlock could go too far. "You realize I can't go with you to Scotland."

"What? Why ever not?" Rosie picked that exact moment to wake from her nap and begin crying.

"That's why," John replied as he walked out of the room to fetch his daughter.

"Well Rosie will come with us, obviously."

"There is a serial killer in Sutherland. If you think for one moment I am going to take Rosie there you need to think again!"

"John, the killer is targeting grown women. A small child still in nappies is in no danger what so ever."

"You forget one thing, even if I do go, who would watch her while you and I are stomping around the moors? Even you have to admit that taking Rosie across peat bogs is highly dangerous and down right crazy."

Sherlock sighed in frustration, hating to admit it, but John was right. This would not work. Yet, he did not fancy going to Sutherland by himself. No, he would need assistance, and he was not looking forward to trying to keep Miss Angelica's advances at bay. The last thing he needed was the unwanted attentions of a love struck young lady. Suddenly Sherlock had an idea!

"John, pack your and Rosie's suitcases. I know exactly what to do. Also, make sure you pack your good suit. We will inevitably be asked to dine at Roane Hall and I am sure the dress code will be formal."

"Sherlock," John began.

"John, just trust me!" Sherlock said as he threw on his Belstaff coat, grabbed his scarf, and rushed out the door.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't worry, for those of you wondering where is Molly I promise she is in the next chapter.


	3. Pretty Woman

**Chapter 3~ Pretty Woman**

Molly rubbed her temples. She had drunk too much the night before with Patricia. She knew she shouldn't have done it but she was having such a marvelous time with her old friend. It didn't help that Patricia had encouraged her to do so, as a way of celebrating Molly's new relationship that was splattered all over the news papers. Still, she needed to focus on the reports in front of her.

It was going on one o'clock and truthfully she was surprised Sherlock wasn't there working on his experiments. He must have found a case. Still, he had yet to text her and she was certain he had seen the papers. She wondered how he was feeling about them becoming public. At first Molly had been floored when she saw it, but then, part of her liked it. Sherlock was doing so much better with sentiment, but they had yet to define what was going on between them. Now there was little doubt, they were most definitely a couple.

Molly closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift back to their shared moments over the past month and a half. At first Sherlock was clearly out of his element. He struggled to put two sentences together when talking about his feelings for her until she all but yelled at him to just spit it out. It was the day after the phone call. Mycroft had just left her flat, having shown her the security footage from Sherrinford. She had been horrified at first, but then she realized the implication of Sherlock's second "I love you" as well as the destruction of the coffin…her coffin.

Ten minutes after Mycroft departed Sherlock let himself into her flat with the key she had made for him years earlier. Sherlock had expected her to be angry, and he started off apologizing for hurting her. He was most surprised when she wrapped her arms around his waist and began to cry. He held her while she sobbed into his chest.

"I know about Euros," Molly finally told him. "Mycroft showed me everything."

"The security footage," Sherlock realized.

"Yes," Molly said.

"I wish he hadn't. You didn't need to experience even more pain because of me." Sherlock said softly. "I know I hurt you."

"For a genius, sometimes you are an idiot," Molly said.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You didn't hurt me. You were trying to save my life! And the coffin…I saw what you did to the coffin. I saw you, Sherlock, I saw what you were going through, what you were feeling."

"How can you know what I was feeling?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I have felt it too!" Molly yelled. "Every time you put your life in danger. When you faked your own death. When Culverton Smith almost murdered you. When you let John nearly beat you to death because you were trying to save him. I know what it feels like to think the person you love is about to die and there is nothing you can do about it! I love you, Sherlock Holmes. You are mean, self absorbed, and even cruel, and I must be nuts, because god what does that say about me, but there it is. I love you. I have loved you for years. I loved you while you were gone. I loved you while I was engaged to Tom. I left Tom because I loved you, not him. So now you know. The question now is, what are you going to do? Are you going to walk out on me? Are you going to tease me like you have in the past? Are you going to use my feelings to your advantage, again? What are you going to do? Do you feel anything for me at all or am I just imagining that what I saw on that video was you, you worried for me and my safety? What do you feel?" Molly watched a myriad of emotions play out across Sherlock's face. Shame for using her, guilt for being mean, and shock that she was actually yelling at him. But then his face settled, and what she saw was tenderness.

"Molly," Sherlock whispered, so softly she thought she might have imagined it. Then he took two quick strides to close the gap between them and wrapped her tight in his arms.

After that night Molly never questioned Sherlock's feelings for her.

She looked at her phone when it buzzed, letting her know she had a text message.

 **Molly, please come straight to Baker Street at 5:00~SH**

Molly smiled and sent a quick text back to let him know she would. Then she forced her mind to get back to work.

John was down to his last two patients before he would finally be done for the day. He was in the middle of examining a four-year-olds ear infection when his mobile buzzed.

 **John, come straight home at 5:00~SH**

John hoped Sherlock wasn't still thinking that he and Rosie would be going to Scotland. It just wasn't practical.

Sherlock looked at the photos of the deceased women. There was no particular type to them that he could see. One was blond, two were brunettes, and one was a red head. The only physical trait they had in common was their frame. All were petite women, very thin, but then it was natural for most brides to go on strict diets prior to the wedding to fit into their dream gowns.

The next thing he had done was research the backgrounds of the women. One bride was an elementary school teacher, the other an architect. The local woman was an employee at the local bed and breakfast not far from Roane Hall, and then of course there was Lady Thurgood's personal secretary. It was possible the secretary and the B&B worker knew each other, it was a small village, people crossed paths, but these women would have had no connection Sherlock could see to the two brides other than location, all were in Sutherland when they were murdered.

Then came the details of the murders themselves. All four women had been strangled. The killer had worn gloves so there were no fingerprints on any of the victims. All four women had been found laying face down out on the moors. The fact that the killer had strangled the women with his bare hands suggested the killer took pleasure from the killing, possibly sexual gratification, yet no evidence of personal DNA had been left behind for authorities to find. It was also doubtful the killer had murdered the women on the moor. More likely, he had killed them somewhere else and dumped their bodies at a secondary location.

A tug at his pant leg drew Sherlock's attention away from the computer screen. Looking up at him was Rosie, giving him a big smile.

"Am I ignoring you? That won't do," Sherlock said. He reached down and picked her up, making her squeal. "How about a song?" He set Rosie down in his chair and picked up his violin. He quickly played Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star followed by Hickory Dickory Dock. Rosie clapped and bounced up and down.

Sherlock pulled his bow across his violin once more, playing a slow but happy tune. He was feeling quite proud of himself. He had had a most busy day but he had managed to get it all accomplished. He had made all the travel arrangements, finished all the shopping he needed, emailed payment arrangements with Dickey, and done the necessary research he needed to have a starting point in the case. Plus, he had picked Rosie up from her day care center an hour ago and fed her a bottle.

"Daddy will be home any second," Sherlock told Rosie. He put his violin down and picked her up. He held her close and breathed in her sweet baby smell. He understood that baby's smelled the way the did for a purely biological reason, to make sure the parents loved the baby and thus ensuring the survival of the offspring, but there was no denying that he loved the smell, even if Rosie wasn't his. The stomping of tired feet up the stairs told him John was home.

"Well, here I am," John announced as he entered the room and stopped. "Sherlock, what in the hell is all of this?" John asked.

"It's our things for travel," Sherlock explained.

"I already told you Rosie and I aren't going. Not to mention where did all of this come from?"

"I went shopping," Sherlock explained. "It was necessary for the case. Now we will be leaving at…"

"Hello," came Molly's soft voice from behind John.

"Hello, Molly," John said. "Perhaps you can help me explain some sense into Sherlock."

Molly looked about the flat. Trunks and suitcases were everywhere.

"Are you all going somewhere?" Molly asked, suddenly looking a bit sad.

"No."

"Yes"

"I…I don't understand," Molly was clearly confused and could sense the rising tension in the room.

"I have taken care of everything," Sherlock announced proudly. "We will all be catching the 8:00 train out of London to Scotland.

"All?" Molly said.

"All," Sherlock confirmed.

"Sherlock, I have to work tomorrow, I can't just run off to Scotland," Molly replied with a laugh.

"Actually, you don't have work tomorrow. Mycroft has already contacted St. Bart's and made arrangements for you to have the next week off," Sherlock announced happily.

"You what!" Molly gasped.

"I…I had Mycroft..."

"I heard you the first time," Molly shouted. "But Sherlock, you can't just go and do that. This is my career! Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to build my reputation, to prove my worth to my superiors, my very male superiors!"

"I…I'm sorry. You're right. I didn't think. I can call Mycroft at once and have him undo my mistake."

"Hold on," John interrupted. "How did you talk Mycroft into doing this in the first place? Unless it is a matter of national security Mycroft has never helped you for a case."

Sherlock got a wicked grin on his face. "Mycroft is putty in my hands at the moment, my dear Watson. After I reminded him that he was the reason Moriarty tried to murder me and everyone I loved, as well as the fact he hid my sister from me for pretty much my entire life, which also nearly resulted in mine and your deaths,"

"You guilted Mycroft," John said with a laugh. "I wouldn't have believed such a thing were possible. I wouldn't have thought Mycroft capable of even feeling guilt."

"Perhaps my brain wasn't the only one Euros managed to scramble that day," Sherlock replied. He turned back to Molly. "I am truly sorry. I will remedy this at once." His pulled his mobile from his pocket.

"No," Molly said, placing her hand on his. "It's okay, but just this time. You must promise not to do this in the future. At least give me a warning before you take it upon yourself to contact my employers. Promise?"

"I promise," Sherlock said. He leaned down and gave Molly a quick peck on the cheek.

"Goodness," Molly exclaimed. "If we are taking the 8:00 train then I need to run home and pack!"

"Don't bother," Sherlock said. "I took the liberty of packing for you."

"You did?" Molly asked, scrunching up her forehead. "You went to my flat and grabbed my things?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "I went shopping. This is all for you." He pointed to the large pile of department store boxes and bags. Molly gave Sherlock an inquisitive look and stepped over to the boxes and began to open them. Inside Molly found trousers, blouses, and dresses from Dior, Burberry, Channel, and stores she had ever only dreamed of shopping from. She blushed when she saw Sherlock had even gone so far as to buy her knickers and nightgowns. After a moments excitement though a frown came to her face.

"Sherlock, you don't like the way I dress?" Molly was clearly feeling self-conscious.

"Don't be silly. I have no qualms about the clothes you wear. But we will be staying with a rather old aristocratic family at their Scottish castle. You will need to look the part! Oh, here, and I almost forgot this." Sherlock pulled out a ring case from his jacket pocket and opened it up. Inside was the most beautiful ring Molly had ever laid eyes on. It was at least a 1-carat princess cut diamond circled by smaller diamonds all around it set into a gold band.

"Sherlock, are, are you proposing?" Molly asked, looking slightly faint.

"I suppose I am. I mean, an engagement is part of the natural process of a relationship. Don't worry though, I insist on at least a two-year engagement. After all, you were engaged to Tom for almost a year and still left the poor man alone and heartbroken. I figure you will need at least twice as long with me to determine if you really want to put up with me for the rest of your life. I know I am not easy to live with." Sherlock plainly ignored the laugh turned cough that erupted from John.

"I…I…" Molly was clearly speechless and looking even more faint.

"Sherlock, I think she needs to sit down, and perhaps you need to slow down," John warned. Sherlock nodded in agreement and quickly guided Molly to her new chair, which she had yet to see or comment on. Her breaths were coming rather rapidly.

Sherlock held Molly's hand in his and lightly placed his thumb on her pulse in her wrist. "Molly, darling, I need you to breath, and then, to tell me what you are thinking. I'm not very good at this. I can't read your mind but the fact that your pulse is racing, your face is flushed, and your breathing a bit ragged has me thinking that I was too hasty with my proposal."

Molly took a deep steadying breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Her breathing finally slowed and she was clearly pulling herself back together. "Honestly, Sherlock, I don't know if I should kiss you or punch you," Molly finally replied.

"Do I have any say in the matter?" Sherlock asked as he got down on one knee so he could look into Molly's eyes.

"I think you have said quite enough for one day," Molly replied. Suddenly Molly noticed the new chair she was sitting in. She ran her hands over the arms, noticing the color and the large rose print. It didn't match the décor of the flat at all.

"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked, giving her a genuine smile.

Molly examined the chair closer, looking behind her and seeing the soft blanket. She cocked her head to the side. "Did you do this for me?" she asked.

"Of course, you will need somewhere to sit, to read your trashy romance novels while you relax."

Molly released a deep sigh that ended with a smile. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, and then wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

John felt a little ashamed for watching the exchange between Sherlock and Molly, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave the room. At the moment he felt as proud of Sherlock as he had of Rosie when she started crawling. He was watching Sherlock take a monumental leap towards growing up. The notion made him smile.

"Sherlock, I accept your proposal, and I will go with you to Scotland, but I can't accept all these things. It's too much. You spent too much. You don't have to buy me expensive gifts."

"Gifts! These aren't gifts. I told you, they are for the case. As much as I love your colorful jumpers and your fuzzy pink slippers, if we are going to pretend to be a newly engaged snobby rich couple we have to look the part. Besides, I was always told that women like to play dress-up in expensive clothing. The sales clerk assured me these were perfect as she assembled all the outfits. Apparently it has something to do with some woman named Julia Roberts.

"Pretty Woman," John supplied.

"I guess the sales clerk could be described as a pretty woman," Sherlock asked. "I really wasn't paying much attention to her."

"Pretty Woman, it's the movie you are, oh never mind," John exclaimed.

Molly took another look at the pile of expensive clothes and blushed. "How do you know my size?"

"I lived with you for a month, remember. Plus I have had access to your closet recently."

"Yes, but,"

"Don't worry, I made allowances for the seven pounds you have lost in the last few months. I know I put you under a lot of stress during that time but you really must remember to eat and take care of yourself," Sherlock admonished. "Now, go and change. We have a train to catch." Molly smiled, gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek, then grabbed several of the boxes and bags and dashed off to Sherlock's room to change.

Sherlock stood up and was looking rather pleased with himself.

"Sherlock," John asked once Molly was out of earshot, "please tell me you didn't spend the rent money buying all of this?"

"Please John, I would never be so stupid as to spend the rent money and leave poor Rosie homeless."

"Well, then, where did you get the money to buy all of this. Mate, this is several thousand pounds worth of merchandise, and that's not including the ring. I can't even begin to calculate how much you spent on the ring."

"Technically I didn't spend a cent on any of this," Sherlock replied.

"What do you mean? You stole it?"

"Please John, I am many things but I have never been a thief. Mycroft bought all of this."

"Uh, yeah, does Mycroft _**know**_ he bought all of this?" John asked.

"He will at the end of the month when the bill comes in. I nicked his credit card the last time we were together."

John started laughing; an honest to god belly laugh and so did Sherlock. Soon they were both holding their sides.

"I hope you and Molly enjoy the case, and your time together."

"Well, since you are coming too you will be able to keep an eye on me and make sure I behave accordingly."

"Sherlock, I have to go to work tomorrow."

"Actually, no you don't," Sherlock said with a grin.

"You didn't," John said.

"I did," Sherlock chuckled. "And I even made arrangements for Rosie. Ms. Pole will watch her during the day. She is Dickey's nanny. His daughter Cecilia is six, but his son Thomas is only three.

John shook his head and groaned. "You cock."

"I know."


	4. The Gilded Age of Train Travel

**Chapter 4—The Gilded Age of Train Travel**

"Dickey will have a car pick us up in Inverness," Sherlock told his companions. It was 7:30 and they were all in the dining car. The train wasn't due to departed until 8:00. The ride to Inverness was usually only eight hours long, but due to an unusually early winter snowstorm the trip was now predicted to take ten hours because of ice on the rails. Sherlock had secured them two sleeper cars, one for John and Rosie and one for him and Molly. "Then it will be a two hour drive to Roane Hall."

"Why the train?" John asked. "Why not just fly and be there in a few hours?"

"Because of Rosie," Sherlock answered.

"What about Rosie?"

"I was afraid the air pressure would hurt Rosie's ears," Sherlock replied. "I didn't want her to be in pain. The research I found clearly stated that children her age were susceptible to ear pain during take off and landing."

John was still amazed at times by the complexity of his best friend. On one hand he could be completely self absorbed, but then he turned around and did something so thoughtful and kind as to think of Rosie and whether flying was a smart idea for her.

The waiter came and placed their meals in front of them. John raised an eyebrow at the indulgent meals. Lobster soufflé, beef tenderloin, seared scallops; the meal must be costing a fortune.

"Is Mycroft paying for this?" John asked.

"No, Dickey is. As a paying client he is responsible for all travel costs for me and my associates," Sherlock said.

"Makes sense," John said. He offered Rosie some of the cream of potato and leek soup he had ordered for her. "It's not like you though, to worry about payment for a case." Usually it fell to John to follow through with clients and make sure the bills got paid.

"Yes, well, some things are different now."

Sherlock didn't elaborate, but John got the message. Sherlock was a man who suddenly had financial obligations, like making sure the rent was paid for Rosie, and making sure there was money to marry Molly. The great Sherlock Holmes was becoming a family man.

"This is delicious," Molly said after swallowing a bite of her soufflé. "Sherlock, thank you for including me. It's been ages since I have had a holiday. I mean, I know it's for a case, but thank you all the same. It feels like we are going on an adventure. I don't normally do this sort of thing. With no family and most of my friends moved away, I've never had anyone to travel with. It was easier to just stay home and work."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you could come." He placed his hand over the one she had in her lap. "I would hate to go away for a week without my fiancé. What would the papers say? Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper have called it quits!" he teased.

"Oh, you did see that," Molly groaned. She put her fork down and placed her hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry Sherlock."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I am fairly certain you were not the one hiding in the bushes snapping photos."

Sherlock turned to John. "When we get to the estate I will need to know the exact locations of where the victims were found. I have no doubt they were murdered somewhere else before having their bodies dumped, but we will still need to visit each spot."

"Right," John said.

"I need to figure out if this is a motive killing hiding behind a serial killer smoke screen or if this is indeed the work of a real serial killer."

"Serial killer," Molly gasped. "We are going after a serial killer?"

"I'm sorry, in all the excitement I never told you what the case was," Sherlock replied.

"How many people has he killed?" Molly asked.

"Four so far," Sherlock told her. "Two tourists and two locals."

"Were they all women?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "He strangled them with his own hands, always with gloves on so there was no DNA or fingerprints."

"How awful," Molly said sadly. "I will ask the local coroner to let me examine the bodies. Perhaps I will find something he missed."

"Unfortunately two of the victims have already been cremated and one buried back in her home town. You will only have access to the latest victim who was murdered last week. I called ahead to make sure the body wasn't released to the family before we arrived there to examine it."

"Those poor families," Molly whispered.

"We will stop him," Sherlock said, giving her hand a small squeeze.

The rest of the meal was eaten with minimal conversation. John was taking turns eating his meal while feeding Rosie. Molly was lost in her thoughts, worrying no doubt about stopping a mad man before he claimed another life.

Sherlock should have had his mind in the game, but instead he took a moment to ponder Molly, his Molly. She wore her hair long and loose tonight, and it hung down her left shoulder. She was wearing one of her new outfits; a pair of perfectly cut black trousers, a simple ivory button down blouse that was tucked in at the waist, and a pair of black loafers. She looked timeless and lovely. Her figure was clearly visible for once without the oversized jumper and baggie pants. In fact, what Sherlock noticed next was how small Molly looked. True, she had always been petite, but now that he could really see her he realized just how tiny she really was. A surge of protectiveness coursed through him. Was it wise to bring her to Sutherland? A killer was targeting women. He didn't know the specifics yet, but he knew he would need to keep her close. He wouldn't fail her like he had Mary.

By the end of the meal Rosie started to get a little fussy. Molly volunteered to take her back to their sleeper car so John and Sherlock could finish their meal and have a brandy.

"You're wondering if you made a mistake bringing Molly with you on this case," John deduced.

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asked.

"Just a feeling," John replied. "There was a look on your face when Molly asked if all the victims were women. Then during dinner, your face was rather…expressive."

"Really," Sherlock replied. "I don't think I have ever been accused of that before."

"True, but you have also never openly loved a woman before either."

"It is just now dawning on me that being in a public relationship with Molly puts her in danger."

"Don't do it, Sherlock," John warned.

"Do what?"

"Send her away. Break up with her. Cancel the engagement. Tell her you are no good for her. Tell her you are leaving her to keep her safe. Act like a complete ass to make her leave you. Did I forget any?"

"I could fake my own death…again." Sherlock actually smirked.

"Sherlock, if you do any of the things I just mentioned, you will destroy her. You think losing seven pounds is bad. Molly has waited patiently for you to get your act together for seven years. She survived your cruel words, she survived Moriarty, she survived Euros' evil schemes, but if you deliberately break her heart now under the delusion of protecting her, she will never allow herself to love ever again. You have spent the better part of your life alone, would you really wish that on her? I'm afraid there is no going backwards for you two at this point. You either move forward, or you have nothing at all."

"My heart, however small it may be, knows you are right, but my brain worries that I might be dragging her into danger."

"Tell that massive intellect of yours to shut up! Has it ever occurred to you that Molly likes the danger? I would be lying if I didn't admit that played a part of why I am here. True, you are my best friend now, but in the beginning, I missed the action, the danger, and the excitement. You bring that same excitement to Molly with your experiments, always turning to her for help, having her assist you with cases. Trust me, Molly may seem like a small, helpless, naïve girl, but she is stronger than you think and she is exactly where she wants to be."

"She is isn't she?" Sherlock agreed. "Back, when I had to fake my own death to keep you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson safe from Moriarty, I went to Molly for help. I was not handling the realization of what I would need to do very well. I dare say I was rather upset by the notion. Molly…she was so calm. She was worried obviously, yet she helped me to take control of the situation and do what needed to be done."

"It's like I've been trying to tell you. Sentiment, love, friends, they aren't a weakness. It makes us stronger. It makes us better. All of it, it makes us become the men we want to be."

John and Sherlock finally retired to their rooms. Molly handed Rosie back to John. The train's rocking motion had lulled her to sleep and even moving her to John's room did not wake her.

"Did you want to pull down the top bunk?" Molly asked once they were alone.

"No," Sherlock said. "We will be arriving at roughly six am. There doesn't seem to be a point. Besides, I can't hold you if I am sleeping in the top bunk."

Sherlock sat down on the long bench and motioned for Molly to join him. He stuffed two pillows into the corner of the wall and the bench and leaned back. Molly sat next to him and rested her head on his chest, extending her legs along the length of the bench. Sherlock wrapped both arms around her and held her close.

"Tell me about the people who hired you for this case." Molly said.

"Ah, that would be Dickey Thurgood. He and I went to boarding school when we were younger."

"Oh, so he is a friend?"

"Not quite. We hated each other. I am an odd man; I know this, so I don't think it would be too much of a stretch for you to use your imagination to realize I was also a rather odd child. I never tried to make friends, or fit in. I was perfectly content to be alone, left to my own devices. Naturally the other boys were ruthless in their treatment of me. Donovan is hardly the first person in this world to call me a freak. At least while Mycroft attended the school the boys never physically hurt me because they were afraid of him, but once Mycroft left that was when the beatings began."

"How awful," Molly said, her heart braking for a little boy alone and helpless.

"You know what they say, 'What doesn't kill us only makes us stronger.'"

"No," Sherlock could feel Molly's head shaking back and forth as it rested on his chest. "Their actions didn't make you stronger. Their actions only served to further your retreat into yourself. What they did was wrong, and you did not deserve it."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Sherlock said. "My life up to this point may not have been an easy one, but this moment, right now, I wouldn't change a thing." Sherlock picked up Molly's hand, the one with the large engagement ring on it. He lifted her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

"I never would have thought you to be a romantic," Molly said.

Sherlock chuckled, "That makes two of us."

Sherlock had arranged for all of them to get a five am wake-up call so they would have time to go to the dining car and have breakfast. Sherlock and John went down with Rosie to grab a table while Molly freshened up and changed clothes.

Molly opened her new suitcase and still smiled at the sight of all the beautiful clothes Sherlock had purchased for her. She quickly ran a brush through her hair. She pulled the front of her hair up and secured it with a clip and let the rest fall down her back.

She changed her thin blouse for a thick cable knit turtleneck sweater. The temperature had definitely dropped since they were so far north. She looked out the window to see snow falling and the ground frozen over. She changed her loafers for a pair of knee high riding boots and tucked her pant legs inside them. She finished off with a swipe of pink lipstick and a little mascara. She only had a small mirror in her train case to use but Molly had to admit she liked the way she looked. She felt more feminine, and definitely classier. Sherlock's observations of her last night had not gone unnoticed!

Finally Molly headed down toward the dining car. She spotted the boys and Rosie right away.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered for you," Sherlock said.

"Not at all," Molly said, picking up her coffee. She tore off a piece of the croissant that was waiting for her. She looked at Sherlock and saw he only had a coffee. John and Rosie were both eating breakfast. "Where is yours?" she asked.

"I never eat on a case," Sherlock replied.

"Hogwash," Molly said. She waved her arm to get the attention of one of the servers.

"Yes, miss?" the waiter asked.

"Hello, we will need another croissant, a pat of butter, and a bit of jam," Molly said.

"Right away," the server replied.

"Molly, what are you doing, I told you I,"

"You are going to have some breakfast," Molly insisted. "If you don't eat, then neither will I!"

"That's just silly," Sherlock protested. "You need to put on a few pounds. Not eating isn't good for you."

"Not eating isn't good for you either!" Molly snapped.

The waiter appeared with a plate containing the items Molly requested.

"Thank you," Molly told him and passed the plate to Sherlock. Molly then proceeded to stare at Sherlock waiting for him to take a bite, and refusing to touch her own breakfast until he did."

John sat there thoroughly amused by the whole situation. John had tried to get Sherlock to eat during a case for years and had finally given up. Something told him Molly was anything but a quitter.

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock protested.

Molly didn't even reply, she simply pushed her plate, untouched, to the center of the table and stood up to return to their sleeper car.

"Fine," Sherlock relented a little too loudly, startling several travelers who were sitting near by. He made a point of smearing butter and jam on the croissant and then taking an insanely large bite. Molly gave him a victorious smile, sat down and proceeded to nibble on her own croissant without saying a word.

John couldn't wipe the smirk off his face fast enough and had to turn to look at Rosie when Sherlock looked over and glared at him. "Well, if you two will excuse me I am going to take Rosie back to the room and change her nappy before we pull up to the station." Molly and Sherlock could hear him chuckling as he walked away carrying Rosie on his hip.

"Molly, while I appreciate that you are trying to look out for me, I must inform you that I already have a mother. I have a way of doing things, a process that I have spent years perfecting."

"Sherlock, we are going to be in Scotland for a week. You are telling me that you are going to spend an entire week not eating. I went to medical school. Admittedly I work on dead people but I know a great deal about the human body and the damage that undue stress puts on it. In the past you have been so self-absorbed in the work that you didn't care if your body went to hell because you had no one that depended on you, no one who cared about what happened to you. That's not the case anymore. I understand that your work is dangerous and I agree to those conditions because I love you, but, I do not agree to sit here and give you my heart only to watch you fade away or have a heart attack because you refuse to eat or sleep. Please don't make me a widow before we even have the chance to be married. Don't make Rosie grow up not remembering how much her Uncle Sherlock loved her."

"Molly, it isn't going to be easy for me to change."

"I'm not asking you to make drastic changes. I love you the way you are, but I am asking that you have a morsel of food every now and then, and maybe you could join me in bed for just a few hours while you are working a case." She deliberately lifted her eyebrows for effect when she said that.

"Molly Hooper, are you trying to seduce me?" Sherlock asked.

"Only for about seven years now," she laughed. To her delight he tore off another piece of his pastry and swallowed it down with a gulp of his coffee.

 **Please let me know what you think of the story so far? I do hope you are enjoying it.**


	5. First Impressions

_**Aurthor's note: To those of you who left reviews, thank you! All writer's love to get them.**_

 _ **Also, I have never been to Scotland. What I know about Scotland comes from movies and watching Outlander. I have tried to rsearch what I could on the internet to try to get most facts corrects. I am going for old Hollywood creepy castle, spooky moors, etc. If I mistake the terrain, or the area, please forgive my ignorance. I mean no disrespect to Scotland or it's people.**_

3 3 3 3

 **Chapter 5-First Impressions**

They spotted their driver right away. A chauffer and limo was waiting for them holding a sign that read "HOLMES".

"Mr. Holmes," the driver asked when Sherlock approached him.

"In the flesh," Sherlock replied.

"My name is Jackson and I will take you the rest of the way. I have a child seat for your little girl."

"Perfect," John said.

Soon the party was on the road. The landscape was so different from London. Gone were the concrete sidewalks, the tall buildings, and the busy streets. They were the only ones traveling on this long stretch of road. To the left and the right was nothing but darkness. About an hour later the sun began to rise, exposing the almost naked scenery. Rolling hills of grass was all there was. Once in a while they would pass a couple of trees, but not often. The sky was gray and heavy fog filled the air.

"I've never been this far north before," Molly said. "It's so barren."

"The land was deforested long ago. Here in the highlands it is mostly nothing but grassland and peat bogs," Sherlock explained. "It does make for a lonely landscape but then there are those who profess it to be beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. Still, you are not seeing the Highlands at their best. It is beautiful out here in the summer, but November is the wettest month of the year for Scotland. I am afraid much of this trip will be dark, gray, and foggy."

"I spend most of my day in a cold windowless room. I will probably feel right at home," Molly replied. Sherlock gave her a smile.

After some time more and more trees started to be seen along the side of the road. Small white houses and other structures finally appeared. The lonely road kept going and finally they cut through the center of the village. There was a café, and bed and breakfast, an adorable florist shop as well as the post office. Further down after another long break of trees they saw a garage, a market, and a clothing boutique.

"It's all so quaint," Molly said. "Like stepping back in time."

The road rounded and there, set back a distance was the ancient cathedral Dickey had spoke of, and finally, ahead of them was Roane Hall. It was very large, but old. Molly had been expecting something along the lines of Downton Abbey or Pemberly, but this was nothing like that. This was a rough-cut stone castle with turrets, and even a stonewall surrounding the perimeter in the front. This castle had probably been under siege once upon a time.

"It looks like something from a movie set," John said. "I dare say one would expect Mel Gibson to show up right about now with half his face painted blue."

"John, flights of fancy will not help to solve the case," Sherlock said.

"No," John agreed. "Still, I can understand why this is a major wedding destination during the summer months."

The car pulled up to the front and Dickey and his wife stepped out to great the travelers as Sherlock and the others climbed out of the limo.

"Sherlock, welcome to Roane Hall," Dickey said. "Please let me introduce you to my wife, Ainsley Macauley Thurgood." Sherlock took in the appearance of Lady Thurgood. She was dressed in tailored wool tan trousers with a heavy Faire Isle sweater pulled over a crisp white button down. She wore brown leather riding boots similar to the ones he had purchased Molly, which she was currently wearing. Her long blonde hair had been pulled up into a chignon, which exposed the large diamond solitaire earrings she wore. Her makeup had been applied with an expert hand. The overall look could have been rather stiff if not for the genuine looking smile she wore on her face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Thurgood," Sherlock replied. Before he could reach out to take her hand another young lady came busting out the doors rushing towards them.

"Oh, and this is my wife's sister, Angelica, that I mentioned to you."

Angelica looked to be ten years younger than Lady Thurgood, which implied she was most likely an "oops" baby. She did not carry herself with the dignity and grace of her older sister, which also suggested that because the parents were older they had relaxed their discipline techniques significantly by the time Angelica was coming of age.

"Mr. Holmes, I am so excited to meet you," Angelica blurted out. "I have been reading your blog for years." Her long black bob shook with excitement. Angelica was the opposite of Lady Thurgood. Lady Thurgood was tall and fair with blond hair and blue eyes. Angelica was shorter with black hair and brown eyes. Still, they bore a similar bone structure in the face.

"It is a pleasure to meet you ladies," Sherlock replied with forced graciousness. "Please allow me to introduce my associate, Dr. Watson."

"The famous Dr. Watson," Lady Thurgood said, shaking his hand. "You write the blog."

"Yes, I do."

"This little one," Sherlock continued, "is his is daughter Rosie, and finally this is my fiancé, Dr. Molly Hooper."

Sherlock and John both caught the crest fallen look that crossed Angelica's young face.

"How do you do," Lady Thurgood said to Molly, shaking her hand in turn.

"It is a pleasure to be here, though I wish under less tragic circumstances. Your home is beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale," Molly said.

"Thank you," Lady Thurgood said. "It has been in the family for seven generations and I hope it stays for seven more. I can't imagine not having this place to come home to."

As Molly followed behind Sherlock into Roane Hall she was privately thankful of Sherlock's recent clothing purchases for her. Looking at Lady Thurgood and Angelica, they were dressed very elegantly, while still being practical. Molly felt every bit their equal in her outfit topped off with the creamy long wool button down coat Sherlock had gotten her. She truly felt like a lady.

Inside, Roane Hall was just as grand. It still looked ancient but it was clear the castle had undergone massive renovations over the years. For one, it was warm inside, and there was electricity and modern furnishings mixed in with the antiques.

Lady Thurgood led them to a sitting room where trays of tea and biscuits had been set up waiting for them. Rosie was set down on the floor where she began to crawl around and play with the few toys John put down for her.

"So, why don't you please begin by telling me everything that you know," Sherlock said.

"It has been simply horrible," Lady Thurgood started. "The first murder was mid August. Sarah had her wedding at the Cathedral and then she and her husband were staying here for their honeymoon night. The next morning when the groom woke up Sarah was missing. We called the constables and after several hours of her not returning to the cottage a search began. Her body was found about a kilometer and a half away from Roane Hall out on the moors."

"I will need to see the spot," Sherlock said.

"I don't know if you can right now. During the summer the moors are dry and walking is easy as long as you know what you are doing. Now it's the rainy season. It is highly likely the area her body was found is a quagmire of mud and water. You have to be careful out there. Mind you, it's not like quicksand, but you can drown if you fall into deep water and this time of year hypothermia is the biggest danger should one get stuck," Dickey warned.

"Still, I will need to get as close as possible," Sherlock replied. "It doesn't have to be right now but I will require a look at the scene of the crime."

"Of course," Lady Thurgood said.

"Did they suspect the husband?" John asked.

"Naturally, he was the number one suspect in the beginning. His alibi was that he was asleep. He had no explanation for why she would wander off in the middle of her wedding night. Not to mention, the poor girl had been strangled to death. They were preparing a case against him and he was even arrested when the next murder happened. This one was early September, and the crime was exactly the same. The bride and groom were staying in separate rooms at the Firefly B&B. The wedding was supposed to happen the next day here at the castle. They retired to their rooms for the night. The next morning the bride to be was missing. Initially it was assumed she had run off, changed her mind about the wedding. Two days later hikers found her body out on the moors about two kilometers behind the kirk.

"The poor girl had been strangled like the first, and her body was floating face down in the bog." Lady Thurgood shook her head, trying to get the visual out of her mind. "They released the man they arrested, since he was locked up during the second murder and couldn't possibly have done both. With the wedding season over everyone hoped the murders were over, until mid October when Veronica Marsh was found dead. She lived here in town. Her daughter goes to school with my daughter. The girls are friends." Lady Thurgood wiped at her eyes, emotions getting the better of her.

Dickey decided to continue the story. "Veronica is…was a single mother. She was devoted to her daughter. When Vicky, the little girl, woke up the next morning her mother was nowhere to be found. Later that day they found her on our property, on the moors, the events of her death matching the others."

"Then last week, Lorna, my personal assistant, and my dearest friend in the world, was also found strangled." Now Lady Thurgood was really falling apart. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Molly suddenly stood up, sat next to the grieving woman and placed a comforting hand on her.

"I am so sorry for your loss," Molly said sincerely. "I know talking about this must be abominable, but the more you can tell us the faster Sherlock can find the murderer."

Lady Thurgood looked up at Molly with tear filled eyes and placed a hand on top of Molly's. The grief stricken woman gave her a soft smile, took a deep breath, and then continued.

"That night we had been in town having a small celebration. Lorna had gotten engaged two weeks earlier. Her fiancé is a banker in London. She met him though our charitable work at a dinner party about a year ago. They had a long distance romance but it had really blossomed. Poor Henry is devastated."

"Was Henry here the night of the celebration?" Sherlock asked.

"No, he was in New York when Lorna was murdered," Lady Thurgood replied. "The entire village is terrified. People don't get murdered here. It's not that kind of a place. But now, after four in four months, women won't even leave their homes to do the grocery shopping. They are sending the men out to run all the errands, but even inside we don't truly feel safe. Several of these women were certainly taken right from their bedrooms!"

"From what I can see right now," Sherlock said, "the only thing these women have in common is Roane Hall. They either were here, worked here, or were found here, out on the moor. True, two were brides and one was newly engaged, but the single mother doesn't fit the pattern of a young woman in love. With two being tourists it is doubtful they would both have a local connection to someone in the village, and unfortunately the murderer is most definitely someone in this village. I am afraid you all probably know the murderer and he is hiding in plain sight."

"That's awful," Angelica said, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Did you know the two brides?" John asked. "Do they have a connection to the village in any way other than just coming here to be married?"

"I never knew the women personally," Lady Thurgood answered. "I met them only briefly, long enough to go over the events of their weddings, make sure they were pleased with the flowers, the décor, and trivial things like that. Their personal history, their backgrounds, I'm afraid I just don't know anything."

"That's to be understood," Molly comforted. "They were paying guests, nothing more. Where is Lorna now? I am a pathologist. I would very much like to examine the…her, I would like to examine her, see if I can find anything that might have been missed."

"She is currently at the funeral home," Dickey answered. "The constables were informed you were coming. We requested they not release her to her family until you had a chance to do your job."

"That is most helpful," Sherlock said.

"I promise to be thorough but quick," Molly said. "I know this must be hard on her family."

"Yes, but her parents agreed that everything must be done to ensure the murders stop," Lady Thurgood replied.

"Do you have a car for us to use while we are here?" John asked. "We will need a mode of transportation for our stay."

"Yes," Dickey replied. "You can use the grounds keepers' truck. It seats four."

"Do you have someone who can take us out on the moors?" Sherlock asked. "It would help if we could be shown the way. I imagine we will venture out there later today."

"Of course," Dickey said. "Our grounds keeper, Duncan, can show you where three of the women were found. The police will have to show you the location of the fourth, as it wasn't on our property. However, I don't recommend doing it today. This far north our days are very short this time of year. Going out on the moors during the wet season is tricky enough for people not used to it in the daylight. It would be very dangerous for you to go after dark."

"Fine, tomorrow at first light then," Sherlock said.

"I will inform Duncan to pick you up at your cottage," Angelica offered. "Just be sure to check the weather before you go out. You really don't want to be out there during a storm."

"Excuse me, but it was mentioned that you have a Nanny?" John interrupted.

"Yes, Angelica, will you please go fetch Nanny for me?"

"Sure thing," Angelica said, though her face clearly said she didn't want to leave the room.

"Bonnie is wonderful with children. She was actually my Nanny years ago. She is older now but I promise you little Rosie will be well looked after."

"Thank you," John said.

Angelica entered the room with a woman in her late fifties, trim, hair pulled back in a tidy bun and a pair of glasses on her nose. The woman was almost a cliché of a proper British nanny.

John picked up Rosie who was teething on one of her rattles. He extended his hand to the older woman.

"Hello, my name is John and this is Rosie."

"How do you do? Oh, isn't she just the sweetest." Nanny extended her arms to scoop up Rosie. "Do you want to spend some time with me and the children?" Bonnie asked Rosie. "I have a whole room full of toys upstairs." Rosie gave the woman a big smile. She then looked to John. "We have a crib all set for her."

"Perfect, Ms…"

"Oh, just call me Bonnie."

"Okay, Bonnie. Here is her schedule." John fished a folded paper from his coat pocket. "Unfortunately, she might be a little off because of traveling."

"That's to be expected," Bonnie replied. "Still, I think we will get along splendidly."

"Yes, well thank you," John said. "Oh, here is my mobile number should you need anything and here is Molly's as well."

"Thank you. I promise to take good care of her."

"Now that everything seems to be settled, why don't we have Duncan take you to your cottage. Your luggage is already there. The truck we mentioned will be delivered there shortly. There is only one main road that leads through town. You drove past all the main structures on your drive in. As you return to town just as you pass the post office you will see a road that heads west, follow that road and it will take you to a small medical clinic and the funeral home. You can't miss it," Dickey told them.

Sherlock, John and Molly followed Dickey back to the main entrance. Dickey pulled out his mobile to phone Duncan and someone named Mathew to make arrangements for them.

Sherlock slipped his Belstaff on and then held up Molly's new long ivory coat so she could slip her arms in.

"Thank you," she said. Molly liked this new Sherlock. He was still very much the man he always was, but he did little things, attentive things, that made her feel special. She pulled her hair free of the coat and then pulled on a pair of gloves. Outside it was bitter cold. It wasn't snowing here like it had been on the train ride up, but the ground was covered in icy frost.

Two trucks suddenly pulled up to the main entrance. A tall, well built man stepped out of the first car. An older man, weathered and grey haired, got out of the second.

""Hello, my name is Duncan and this here is Mathew," the tall man said, shaking John's, Sherlock's and finally Molly's hands. He had thick black hair, a well chiseled faced, and lines around his eyes that spoke of time spent working out doors. He may have only been a grounds keeper, but he stood tall and proud. Sherlock instantly deduced him to be a ladies man, a young buck looking for his next doe. Sherlock also saw the appreciative look Duncan gave Molly, his Molly. The young buck clearly approved of what he saw.

"Hello," John greeted. "I'm John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes, and his fiancé, Molly Hooper." John had also noticed the appraising look in Duncan's eyes. He was staring quite intently at Molly. Molly had been oblivious at first but she finally realized he was staring too long, and she turned her head away, feeling self-conscious.

Duncan finally turned his head to look at John. "Nice to meet all of you. If you get in I will take all of you to the cottage."

Sherlock and Molly got in the backseat while John got in the front with Duncan.

"So do you think you can find the killer?" Duncan asked as he started the vehicle.

"Of course," Sherlock replied.

"That's good. A lot of the women here are scared."

"Did you know any of the women personally?" John asked.

"I knew Lorna," Duncan replied. "We both worked here. Our paths crossed several times a week. Also, I had seen Veronica Marsh about town. We never socialized or anything, but it's a small village. Everyone sort of knows everyone."

"Is there a reason you didn't socialize with Ms. Marsh?" John asked. "Was she, I don't know, not a nice person, that type of a thing."

"No, nothing like that. We just didn't travel in the same circles," Duncan replied.

"Yes, I don't imagine you had much in common with a single mother," Sherlock commented.

Duncan looked at Sherlock in the review mirror to address him. "True." He then used the review mirror to look Molly over once more. Molly was staring out the window taking in the scenery. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.

"How long have you worked at Roane Hall?" John asked.

"I was born here. My father was grounds keeper before me, and my mother was a cook in the kitchen. My parents are down in Inverness now, both living in the senior home, but Roane Hall is the only home I have ever known."

They pulled up to a pretty row of cottages, each painted the same colors. The only real difference was the bronze numbers on the doors.

"You will be staying in number 4. It's the largest," Duncan told them.

Duncan got out of the truck and opened the back door for Molly. He extended a hand and she took it as she exited the vehicle.

"Thank you," Molly said politely.

"You're welcome," Duncan said with a flirtatious smirk. Duncan pointed out to the distance and engaged Molly in small talk about the property and just how far it extended.

Sherlock watched the interaction between Molly and Duncan closely. Duncan was a strong male, local, and had access to all the victims. At the moment Duncan was being extremely kind to Molly, flirting with her openly, despite the fact that he knew Molly was engaged to Sherlock. Sherlock needed to deduce if his motives were purely sexual, or if there could be a stronger emotion.

"We will need to do the morgue today and possibly squeeze in a meeting with the constable," John said.

"Yes, time is our enemy right now. It has already been too long since the last murder and our arrival on the scene. We will…" Sherlock stopped mid sentence. Duncan had placed his hand at the small of Molly's back as he turned her and pointed into a different direction. John quickly looked to see what had caught Sherlock's attention.

"So what do you make of that one?" John asked.

"He is definitely looking to make his next sexual conquest," Sherlock said. "But being attracted to Molly does not automatically make him a serial killer." John and Sherlock watched as Duncan's hand started to slide down her back and move towards Molly's posterior.

"Oh dear," John mumbled.

"Yes, I think our young buck has had enough." Sherlock walked over and quickly stepped between Molly and Duncan, all but giving the man a shove.


	6. It's the Ones You Love Who Hurt You

**Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews!**

 **Chapter 6-It's the Ones You Love Who Hurt You the Most**

Sherlock quickly turned Molly around towards the house so she wouldn't see Duncan scrambling to regain his balance after getting shoved by Sherlock.

"Sherlock, Duncan was telling me that the estate backs all the way up to the ocean. He also said that out that way there is another castle, a ruin, but that it might be something to see."

"Yes, well, perhaps after we find the murderer we will consider such a trip." Sherlock turned to Duncan, "So, why don't you lead the way inside." Sherlock wrapped a possessive arm around Molly's waist as he motioned for Duncan to proceed.

"Certainly," Duncan said. They followed him into the house. "There is a master bedroom and bath on the main floor back that way. Upstairs is two more bedrooms and a full bath. You have the kitchen and sitting room here."

"Thank you," John said. "Rosie and I will take the rooms upstairs then." John lifted his large suitcase and lugged it up the staircase.

Molly opened a few cupboards and saw there was no food.

"We will need to go to the market in town," she said, "after we are done at the morgue."

Duncan made a visible face when he heard Molly was going to go to the morgue. "Are you sure you want to go there?" Duncan asked her. "It might be rather disturbing for you to see a murdered woman like that."

"Molly is a pathologist," Sherlock said with a smirk. "One of the best."

"What does a pathologist do?" Duncan said.

"I examine dead people," Molly said. "Autopsies to be exact."

"Oh," was all Duncan could think to say.

"I believe we can take it from here," Sherlock said. "If I could just get the keys from you then you can be on your way."

Duncan could see he was being dismissed. He fished the keys out of his pocket, held them up and then dropped them into Sherlock's hand. "If you need anything just press zero on the phone. It will connect you to the house." Finally Duncan turned and left. He got into the second truck with Mathew and drove away.

Molly picked up one of her suitcases, carried it into the bedroom, and laid it on the rack. Sherlock lifted her second case and placed it on the bed for her. Then he went to retrieve his own bags. They could hear John carrying up Rosie's suitcase. Molly quickly hung her clothes on the hangers provided so the wrinkles could fall out. She then took a moment to lie out her toiletries and makeup on the dresser.

"It's a beautiful room," Molly said, looking around.

"Hmm, what?" Sherlock asked. He was sitting on the bed with his fingers in the classic temple pose she knew well.

"The room," Molly repeated. "It's very pretty."

"Oh, yes, it is," he mused for a second before jumping back into the case. "I need to figure out what it is that connects all these women. Serial killers usually work off a pattern. I would have thought the pattern was brides, or women in love, but the single mother stand's out. She clearly does not fit the pattern, so why her? Also, I will need to learn as much as I can about the first girl."

"Why the first?" Molly asked.

"Sometimes, not always mind you, but sometimes the first is personal. The first might not have even been planned, but once done the killer realizes he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much in fact that he feels the need to repeat it, to relive the experience again and again."

John poked his head in the room. "If you two lovebirds are done talking I am ready to go when you are."

"Of course," Sherlock said. The three of them went outside to the old Range Rover that had been left for them to use. Sherlock slid behind the wheel. John sat up front and Molly took a seat in the back.

"If the connection is somehow to do with the weddings," John said, "then we need to look at all the local vendors. Caterers, florists, workers at the cathedral, and even the staff of Roane Hall."

"Exactly," Sherlock agreed. "At the moment our suspect list is any able bodied male in the village. One thing I am sure of is Dickey is not the murderer, nor are any of the men who were in love with the victims."

The drive to the funeral home did not take very long. Sherlock parked the car in a space in front of the Drever Funeral Home. Inside, the building was painted white with heavy green draperies that were used to partition off more than one viewing room.

"May I help you?" asked a middle-aged man wearing an outdated but well kept black suit. He was a few inches taller than John, with brown hair that was going gray at the temples. He wore a pair of wire rimmed glasses. Sherlock noticed the wedding ring on his finger.

"Ah yes, I'm Sherlock Holmes, these are my associates, Dr. Watson and Molly Hooper. We are here to see the latest victim of you town's serial killer. I was told she was still here."

"You can't be certain the killer is from the town. He could be a drifter," the man said.

"No, absolutely not," Sherlock said. "He is definitely a resident."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You might want to ease the gentleman into the conversation a bit."

"Time is of the essence," Sherlock replied. "By the way, who are you?"

"Uh, I'm Frank Drever," the man said. "I'm the owner and director."

"Perfect, well Mr. Drever if you could possibly show us the body it would be most helpful," Sherlock said.

"Of course, follow me." Frank Drever turned and started walking towards the back of the building. "I was told of your pending arrival. The family is anxious to get poor Lorna's body so they can have a proper funeral, but they understood why you needed to examine it first. They have been very cooperative, despite the horrible circumstances."

"I promise to be very respectful," Molly said. "I should be able to finish today."

"You?" the director asked.

"Yes, I am a pathologist from St. Bart's Hospital."

The director opened a door that led to a ramp that would take them to the basement. The ramp was obviously for the aid of rolling the coffins up and down as they would be too heavy to carry up a flight of stairs.

The basement was chilly, just like the morgue would be. The director walked over to the wall that housed the refrigerated compartments and opened the first door. He pulled out the table that Lorna Grady was lying on.

Molly stepped up and pulled back the sheet covering the body. The most obvious sight for everyone was the ring of bruises the circled the neck. Molly pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and ran her fingertips over the bruises, turning the head to the left and the right. She opened the eyes to examine the broken blood vessels there.

"Broken capillaries in the eyes and the visible bruises confirm strangulation," Molly said. She then examined the arms, legs, chest, and scalp. "I don't see any evidence of an injection, however I will need to see the toxicology report to see if chloroform or some other drug was in her system. I do see bruises on the fingers and knuckles where she tried to resist her attacker. I need to flip the body over," Molly told the director.

"Of course." He rolled over the pulley system they would need to reposition the body. With a little effort the body was soon face down.

"She clearly fell onto the corner of something," Molly said. "This large bruise on her back is in the shape of a triangle, suggesting that on the way down she hit the corner of a table or countertop."

"That would imply that the killer pounced on her quickly," Sherlock deduced.

"Or possibly she was trying to run away, or backed away and tripped and fell in the process of fleeing," John added.

"The intensity of this bruising really suggests that whatever she hit she hit forcefully. I don't know if just tripping and falling would result in an impact this severe," Molly informed.

"That leads to two scenarios," John said. "She either knew her attacker and was facing him, unafraid, until the moment he pounced, causing her to fall back, or that she was caught completely unaware by someone who all but tackled her to the ground."

"If he tackled her, he went straight for the throat," Molly said. "There are no other contusions to indicate she was struck anywhere else."

"Strangulation is a violent way to kill someone," Sherlock said. "You have to get up close and personal." Sherlock closed his eyes, remembering the gleaming look of excitement and pleasure on Culverton Smith's face as he told Sherlock to take a deep breath and then covered his mouth and nose. In his weakened condition from the drugs and the beating he had sustained he remembered his own fear at the realization that he wasn't strong enough to fight back. He remembered how he kept eye contact with Smith until his vision finally began to blur, as he finally began to realize that he was indeed dying. These women had experienced the same thing, only no one busted in to save them like John had saved him.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked. She placed her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He realized he must have been staring off to long. Both Molly and John were looking at him with concern on their faces.

"Yes, yes I am fine. These women knew their attacker, or at the very least they had no reason to be afraid of him. They willingly let the murderer in. Yes, of course. That is why there were no other injuries to the bodies other than the strangulation wounds. They all were literally standing, looking the murderer in the eyes. All he had to do was reach out and wrap his hands around their throats. By the time the women realized what was happening it was all ready too late. Too late to fight back. Too late to scream for help. They died without even making a sound. There could have been a dozen people on the other side of the door but no one heard them because…" Sherlock stopped talking. He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear the memory, the dark thoughts of what could have happened if John had arrived just ten seconds later than he had.

John seemed to know where Sherlock's memory palace had taken him. "You managed to put Culverton Smith in jail," John reminded him. "You'll catch this bastard and put him away too."

Sherlock looked over at John and gave his friend a small grin. "Yes, yes we will." Sherlock made a point of using the word we. He needed John to know he valued his contributions to all of this, Molly's as well. "I believe we are done here. I now know where all the women died, how they died, and I can narrow down the suspect list quite significantly."

"You got all that just buy looking at one body?" Mr. Drever asked, quite astonished.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Just like I know you had a traditional English breakfast this morning, you have at least one, possibly two sons, but they have no desire to take over the family business, and that your business is in fact struggling to stay afloat."

"What? How could you?" Mr. Drever stammered.

"Sherlock, must you always show off?" John groaned. Molly was glad to see Sherlock was over whatever had upset him moments ago, but she also knew he was about to become very rude. She pulled the sheet back over the body and pushed the table back into the refrigerated compartment and shut the door.

Sherlock ignored John. "There is egg yolk and a drop of grease on the cuff of your sleeve. The ramp is at an angle too steep for you to roll these heavy coffins up and down by yourself, and since you do not seem to have another employee who works here, that implies you have one or two strong young sons who assist you as needed, yet the sign out front clearly says, Drever Funeral Home, not Drever and Sons Funeral Home, meaning your boys are probably planning a far different career choice than the one you currently have. A great deal of time is spent on making sure your suit is immaculate, yet it is tens years old. The jacket has had the hem replaced on the left side, see the spot where the stitching is slightly different from the rest, it implies you need this suit and can't afford to purchase another one at this time."

Mr. Drever stood there, his mouth agape.

"No need to show us out," Sherlock said. "We know the way."

Molly and John followed Sherlock out of the building back to the Range Rover. Molly waited until the doors were shut before she said what she was thinking.

"Sherlock, I know you are very clever, and I know you have all these bits of information in your head that no one else does, but perhaps you can keep deductions such as the ones you just made to Mr. Drever private until you are alone with us. Then you can let all those thoughts and words come flooding out of your mouth," Molly said.

"What ever for?" Sherlock asked. This time he was in the passenger seat and John had climbed in behind the wheel.

"You speak in a way that is very frank, blunt even. You know you do. While some people you speak to may deserve to be put in their place like that, many people who you deduce are guilty of nothing more than crossing your path."

"Molly, I hardly put that man in his place."

"No, but you definitely shamed him. In so many words you called him a sloppy eater, poor, and pointed out that his sons will probably abandon him the moment they are able to leave."

"Yes, but everything I said was true," Sherlock said.

"But it hurts, Sherlock." Molly said. "I have been on the receiving end of your deductions many times. No matter how many times you have done it to me it never gets easier. It always hurts, and when you do it in front of people other than John I always feel ashamed and embarrassed." Molly looked down at her lap. This was not the first time she had told Sherlock he said cruel things to her, but it was still hard to admit that the man she loved also had the ability to cause her terrible pain.

Sherlock suddenly pictured a Christmas Eve many years ago, and Molly standing there, beautiful in a body hugging dress, her hair curled and cascading down her back, and her lips bright red. He remembered the tears that glistened in her eyes as he used his tongue like a knife to cut her to pieces in front of all of their friends. He remembered the shame he had felt afterwards knowing how badly he had hurt her. He had apologized, something he almost never did. He had even kissed her, wished her Merry Christmas. That was the first night that he realized Molly mattered to him. It would be years later before he would actually realize he loved her, but still, something had happened that night.

Molly was still looking at her lap, feeling self-conscious. He reached his long arm through the gap in the front seat and took her hand in his. She finally raised her head and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

"I am not foolish enough to believe I will never cause you pain ever again. I am arrogant, and thoughtless, but I promise to try to do better. I don't like hurting you. It's never my intention, even if that is the end result."

"I know that," Molly replied. "But you had already amazed Mr. Drever with your deductions about the murders. Everyone is always amazed by your deductions. You need to stay on topic. It is the personal deductions, when you expose secrets that most people keep secret for a reason, secrets that have nothing to do with murder, but are simply a matter of pride, or a source of embarrassment, that is when you stop dazzling people and make them think you are cruel."

Now Sherlock was reminded of what John had said. John wasn't the man Mary thought he was, but being with Mary made him better. It made him **want to be** the man Mary always thought he was. Sherlock was well aware of the fact that most people thought of him as an insufferable ass. Could being with Molly really make him a better man? Only time would tell, but he loved Molly, and he was willing to try.


	7. Seeking Answers

**Chapter 7- Seeking Answers**

Sherlock looked at Molly. "I will try to do better, and if I start to cross a line, to be cruel for no reason, tell me. Sometimes my mind works so fast, the words just come out. I am not used to…to filtering my words."

"I've been trying to get you to stop being an ass for years," John said, but he was smiling. "Hopefully Molly will have more success than I had." Molly giggled.

"So now that you made all your deductions about the murders do you care to share what you know with Molly and me?"

Sherlock released Molly's hand and readjusted himself in his seat.

"I know that all the women were murdered in their own homes or in their hotel rooms. Whoever the murderer is he seems innocent enough to be allowed access inside."

"How did he get the bodies out of the hotel with no one seeing?" Molly asked.

"Well, with the first bride, she was in one of the cottages. It was nighttime. He would have been able to carry the body out of the house undetected very easily. The second bride was in the B&B. This village is usually safe. Nothing terrible happens out here. I'm guessing the B&B has practically no security what so ever, certainly not in the way of cameras and such. He would have had to be careful, but I imagine once he checked that the way was clear it was probably rather easy. The single mother was killed in her own home, her daughter was asleep in her room, so again he had privacy."

"That just leaves Lorna," John said. "We will need to find out where she lived."

"I am sure we can get that information from the constables," Sherlock said. "That is our next destination."

"Then we will need to go to the market before returning to Roane Hall," Molly added. "There is no food there."

"Okay," John said as he started the engine and drove back towards the main road and then turned south. They had passed the police station the day before coming up.

Molly watched as several locals walked up and down the main street. They were all bundled up in their warmest clothing, as it was very cold out. Even though she was sure many people lived around here the over whelming feeling one got was isolation of the area. The gray sky and the wind just added to the effect.

She looked down at her hands and smiled at the sight of the ring on her finger. Everything that happened yesterday happened so fast that she really hadn't had a chance to process it all. She was engaged…to Sherlock Holmes. She had been in love with him for years and never in her wildest dreams thought this moment would come. She never thought Sherlock would love her, let alone propose. She looked at the ring again. It was beautiful.

She looked at Sherlock from behind. He was staring forward through the window, deep in thought about the case no doubt. She took a moment to admire his fine features, his chiseled cheekbones, and that mop of unruly curls that she loved to run her fingers through. She was glad that he had regained the weight he had lost. She preferred Sherlock with a little meat on his bones. Case or no case she would make sure he continued to eat. That's what you do when you love someone, you take care of them.

John parked in front of the police station. Sherlock climbed out of the passenger seat and then opened Molly's door for her. She slid out of the truck and gave him a big smile.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing," Molly replied. Sherlock continued to look curious but shut the door. They entered the police station. It was very small. The main room had two desks behind a counter, there were a few computers, and in the back they could see two cells that would house criminals. Both cells were empty.

The officer sitting at the desk reading the newspaper looked up to greet the strangers that entered. He looked to be mid-twenties, tall and slender. His blond hair was cut in a very official cropped hairdo.

"Hello, what can I do for you…it's you! You're him. From the papers!" The officers green eyes went wide!

"Yes, hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes! Wow!" The constable was completely star struck. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes. My name is Stewey, I mean, I'm Constable Stewart Cullen."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Constable Cullen," Sherlock said.

"Oh, and this must be your fiancé," the constable gushed.

"Excuse me?" Molly asked. How could he possibly know that? The engagement had happened just last night.

"I saw it in the papers!"

"You did? May I see, please?"

Stewart grabbed the paper and handed it over. There on the front page was the announcement of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper's engagement, along with a picture of the two of them leaving Sherlock's flat yesterday. She was wearing her new outfit and they were surrounded by luggage. Then there was an extreme close up photo blown up extra large to show the ring on her finger.

"Do the paparazzi follow you around everyday?" she asked Sherlock. "I didn't even have the chance to phone my sister about the engagement."

"The sales clerk," Sherlock said. "It had to be her, or possibly the jeweler. One of them must have tipped off the papers. I am sorry, Molly, I truly am. Although, now that they have their damn story maybe they will stop following us." Sherlock's mobile began to buzz. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "For Christ's sake."

He answered his phone, "Hello, mummy."

"Mummy?" Molly mouthed.

"Uh, yes, I did get engaged to Molly. Yes, I know I should have told you before you read about it in the papers. I know. Mum, I'm rather busy right now. I'm sorry you found out this way. Uh huh. I promise to bring her over very soon but right now we are all in Scotland. Yes, you heard me right. Well, um, we are looking for potential wedding sights. No, the wedding isn't soon. No, of course she's not pregnant. Mother! We are just on a holiday in Scotland. Dickey Thurgood invited us out to visit. You remember Dickey, from boarding school. Anyway, I really must go. Yes, I promise to text you some pictures. Mycroft? What about Mycroft? Stolen, really? How dreadful. Well, bye now, must go, uh huh, yeah, bye." Sherlock turned off his phone with a sigh.

"Well, that went well," John said.

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock told John. John just laughed as Sherlock slid his phone back into his pocket. "Bloody newspapers!"

"Are your parents very angry?" Molly asked.

"Not at all. They are delighted that at least one of their children will provide them with a grandchild. They want to meet you as soon as we return to London."

"Um, okay. Grandchild?" Molly said nervously.

"Don't worry. My parents will love you," Sherlock assured her.

"What was stolen from Mycroft?" Molly asked.

"Oh, nothing important," Sherlock said. Again John let out a small chuckle.

"Anyway, Constable Cullen," Sherlock said, turning back to the wide eyed constable, "Sir Richard and Lady Thurgood asked me to come and look at the records pertaining to the murders here in your charming village. They are terribly worried about the harm these murders might hold for the coming season. It would be a shame if tourists were to frightened to come and spend all their money here."

"Uh, I guess so. Perhaps I should radio the inspector. Today is his day off, but I should probably get clearance from him before I share them with you."

"I guess, but is that really necessary. I mean, I'm Sherlock Holmes. I'm sure he would agree to my helping you solve this case. I know you must both be under terrible pressure to find the murderer."

"You have no idea," the constable agreed. "Every day the folks here are hounding us for answers but honestly, at this point we've got nothing."

"Well, then it seems we have arrived just in time," John told him. "Sherlock solves cold cases all the time. They are his specialty. Let Sherlock help and then you and your inspector can take all the credit. You'll be heroes!"

This made Constable Stewey smile widely. "That sounds great. He raised the counter top so that Sherlock, John, and Molly could enter past the counter. They all sat around a desk while the files were retrieved from the filing cabinet.

"Here you go."

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

Each victim had her own case file. Soon the files were all open and Sherlock was spreading crime scene photos all over the desktop and even the floor.

"Each scene looks so familiar," Molly said. All four victims were lying face down in a wet peat bog, floating really. Their clothes were wet, plastered to their bodies. Three of the women were wearing nightgowns; only Lorna was still clothed in the dress she had yet to change out of. The post mortem photos showed four women with the exact same strangulation wounds they had seen earlier. One of the victims, the school teacher, also had a contusion on her back, indicating she hit something on the way down, but other than that the bodies showed no other signs of injury.

Sherlock couldn't find an address for Lorna. "Excuse me, Constable…"

"Oh, just call me Stewart."

"Yes, well Stewart, can you tell me where Lorna Grady lived. I know where the brides were staying, as well as the single mother, but where did Lorna live?"

"She lived at Roane Hall," Stewart said.

"What? In one of the cottages?" John asked.

"No, as far as I know she had her own bedroom inside the house. Her and Lady Thurgood were inseparable. True BFF's as my sister likes to say."

"Is…I mean, was Lorna a local?" John asked.

"No, she and Lady Thurgood went to college together. Lorna was even maid of honor at the wedding."

"This changes things," Sherlock said. "I assumed all the women died in their own rooms, but there is no way a murderer was able to walk into Roane Hall undetected, enter Lorna's room, strangle her, and then carry her body out of the house and onto the moor. Even if it were the middle of the night, it is highly unlikely he would have gotten away without being seen, without making a sound."

"So, if Lorna was killed outside of the house, perhaps the others were lured outside as well?" Molly added. "The first bride to die was staying in the cottage with her husband. Here are pictures of the smaller one they were staying in. She had a bruise on her back indicating she fell, hard, onto something as the murderer took her down. Also, there are defensive wounds on her arms and hands. She fought back. Surely that would have made noise. It should have woken up the husband."

"Unless the husband was intoxicated. I remember being fairly tipsy after mine and Mary's wedding," John said.

"No, I think Molly is right. Drunk or not, there is no way this woman was murderer a few feet away from her husband when she clearly struggled. How can these murderers be so alike and yet potentially so different?" Sherlock held his hands to his chin, closing his eyes to think. "What I need is to retrace the events of the days leading up to the weddings, but of course that is impossible now, as it is months later, the guests are all gone and except for a few photographs the evidence is all gone. That just leaves me Lorna and Veronica."

"Can we access the Marsh house?" John asked. "Is it still a crime scene?"

"Not anymore," Stewart said. "We had the place taped off for three weeks. As much evidence as possible was collected from it. Last week the Inspector finally removed the tape. Veronica's sister from Inverness came. She packed up the house, sold what wasn't wanted and then she put the house up for sale. My understanding is she needed the money to take care of Veronica's daughter. She is raising Vicky now, after all."

"Has the house sold yet?" Molly asked.

"No. It probably won't until spring time when people start looking to buy."

"There is no point in going anyway," Sherlock said. "Between movers, packing, and the constant going in and out, any evidence has been destroyed. So that leaves us with Lorna's bedroom. At the moment it is all I have left to work with."

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and snapped pictures of everything he needed from the case files, personal information, the crime scene photos, and the autopsy photos.

"Well, thank you Stewart. You have been very helpful," John said.

"Sure thing. I really hope you can help us catch him."

Outside they were about to go back to the truck when Sherlock saw the florist shop was open. He changed course and Molly and John followed. A small bell rang loudly when they opened the door. A moment later an older woman stepped into the shop. It was easy to see that her home and the shop were one in the same. She had converted the front of the house into a flower shop.

"Hello," the woman said with a happy smile on her face. She looked like a sweet old grandmother with her long white hair pulled up in a bun and glasses perched on the end of her nose. "What can I do for you today?"

"Hello," Sherlock greeted. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with some information. I have been hired by Sir Richard and Lady Thurgood to look into the tragedies that have taken place here in your small village. They are very worried for everyone in town."

"Oh, I thought I recognized you. You are that detective fellow."

Sherlock smiled. The woman reminded him of his mother for some reason.

"Yes, I am. Sherlock Holmes." He extended his hand in greetings to her. She shook it.

"Thank god you are here. What has been happening is simply terrible. All the women in town are so frightened. It was bad enough when it had been two strangers who had died, but then when it became local women, it was just too much to believe. How can I help you?"

"I need to know if you sold the women flowers. Did you service the weddings?"

"Yes, hang on, let me get my ledger. Better yet, why don't all of you come inside?" She motioned for them follow her into her home.

Her home was clean and tidy, and very like the woman herself. The curtains and sofa were in pretty floral prints, and the walls were a soft pink. A large fluffy white cat was curled up next to the fireplace that had a roaring fire burning inside. On the table was a cup of tea and the book the woman had clearly been reading just before she had been interrupted.

"I'm Molly," Molly said. "Your home is lovely. So cozy."

"Thank you. My name is Agatha?"

"Do you live here alone?" Molly continued.

"Oh no, my grandson lives here too. His name is Charlie. He is out right now with his friends." Agatha opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a big book. "Here is the ledger," she said, handing it to Sherlock. "The first wedding was in August. That was the teacher, her name was Sarah. Then in September it would have been Jessica. Excuse me a moment, I'll make us all some tea."

"Thank you," Molly said.

"Oh it's nothing,"

Sherlock flipped through the book and found multiple entries for both Sarah and Jessica. Both women had placed huge orders. Centerpieces, bouquets, boutonnieres, and arrangements for the pews of the church were all ordered. Sarah had come to the shop to make her final payment three days before her wedding, and then Jessica had come the day before her wedding to make the final payment.

Agatha returned to the living room carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. Molly was grateful. She was feeling rather peckish. Agatha passed out cups to everyone and then extended the plate of biscuits.

"So how old is your grandson?" John asked.

"He's 27. His mother died when he was ten years old. I've looked after him ever since, except for when he was away at university."

"So what does he do?" Molly asked.

"Right now he works here at the shop. He is very good at floral arrangements and of course he does all the deliveries."

"So he went to Uni to be a florist?" Molly asked.

"Oh no, he was studying history and literature. He wanted to be a teacher."

"Oh, so is he looking for a position?" Molly continued.

"No, he dropped out in his fourth year. I have no idea why. His grades were very good and he was close to being done. Then one day he came home in a huff, locked himself in his room for two days and that was the end of it. I was disappointed at first, but he is such a good worker here and such a help to me."

"You are very lucky to have such a good grandson," John said.

"Yes. So what have you learned about these awful murders?" Agatha asked.

"So far I am certain that the murderer is a local. I know that is probably hard to believe but it is the only explanation that makes sense. We know the grooms didn't commit the murders, and it would be highly doubtful a drifter came through town four different times and killed four women without anyone noticing a stranger."

"Oh dear, I suppose that makes sense but it is such an awful thought. To think, I might actually know who is doing this!" Agatha worried.

"Excuse me," Molly said. "May I please use your facilities?"

"Of course, dear. Just go right up the stairs. There is only three doors, the middle one is the loo."

"Thank you." Molly excused herself from the room and went up. She couldn't help it. She peeked into Agatha's room and smiled. It was covered in floral prints just like the downstairs, only instead of pink being the dominant color; yellow was the most noticeable up here.

Molly stepped into the loo and flicked on the light. She had expected a very frilly and floral bathroom but was surprised to se the bathroom was plain. The fixtures were all basic white, and the shower curtain and rugs were all navy blue. She finished up her business, washed her hands and took a quick look in the mirror. She needed to touch up her lipstick but she had left her purse downstairs. She opened the door but before heading back to the others she spied into the third door. This was obviously Charlie's room. The room reminded her very much of her university days. The walls held several pennants for the University of Saint Andrews. There was a poster of the school mascot and coat of arms. The bed was decorated with a navy duvet the color of the bathroom shower curtain.

By the bed was a small desk that help a laptop and an alarm clock.

"May I help you?" a male voice asked.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to snoop. I was using the loo and saw all your Saint Andrews memorabilia out the corner of my eye. I almost attended Saint Andrews. Did you like it there?"

"Who are you, exactly?" the man asked. He was tall and exceptionally fit and muscular. He had long blond hair that fell over his forehead and a face that was rather boyish. He was wearing exercise clothes that were quite sweaty. He had obviously just come home from the gym.

"I am so sorry. My name is Molly. Molly Hooper. I am here with Sherlock and Dr. Watson. Like I said, I just came up to use the loo. I do apologize for being nosy."

"No harm done. I'm Charlie Eckhart. Excuse me, I need to change."

"Yes, of course." Molly stepped out of his way and then headed back downstairs.

"Everything all right, dear?" Agatha asked.

"Yes, I just met your grandson. My but he certainly is a big boy!"

"Charlie loves to work out," Agatha agreed. "He was small for a long time, and the other boys picked on him. Finally he had a growth spurt and shot right up. He started working out regularly so the boys wouldn't torment him anymore."

"That makes sense," John said.

Sherlock was still flipping through the ledger when he realized something important. "You delivered flowers to Veronica Marsh and Lorna Grady. There are entries here for both women."

He handed the ledger back to Agatha. "Yes, we did. Let's see, Veronica's was from Father Clark and Lorna's, oh those were from her fiancé Henry."

"You delivered them to both women just a couple of days before they were murdered," Sherlock said.

Agatha looked at the ledger. "Yes, I suppose we did. Charlie took Veronica's to her but I took the flowers to Lorna. I love to have an excuse to go up to Roane Hall."

Sherlock had not expected that. He assumed Charlie had done all the deliveries, making him something all the victims had in common, but Charlie didn't do Lorna's delivery. Still, Charlie surely knew who Lorna was. Like Duncan said, the town is small. Everyone knows everyone.

"Was Veronica and Father Clark very close?" Molly asked.

"Well, Veronica volunteered to clean the parish every week. She'd run the hoover and dust the pews, that sort of thing. I'm sure Father Clark sent her the flowers as a thank you for all she did for him."

"Well, we really must be off," Sherlock said. "I think I have all I need from here."

"Oh, sorry you have to go so quickly," Agatha said. She stood up to follow them out. "I enjoyed the bit of company. It does get lonely out here."

"I'll try to come and visit you once more before we leave," Molly promised.

"Thank you dear. It's so nice to get to talk to new people. During the season there are always people coming and going, but now that winter is coming, I spend much of my time alone."

Outside of the florist shop they decided it was time to head back, but first they needed to go to the market. The grocery store was rather small but it had everything they needed; fresh bread, cold cuts, cheese, tea, coffee, some fruit and veg, eggs, and several jars of baby food for Rosie. It didn't take long to make their purchases and finally they were back on the road to Roane Hall.

"I think it is safe to say that Charlie is a suspect, as is Duncan," Sherlock said. "I still need to meet this Father Clark, for odds are he would have been in contact with all four women as well."

"But Charlie and Duncan seem quite nice," Molly said.

"You thought Jim was nice too, until we all realized he was a criminal mastermind," Sherlock pointed out. "Besides…"

"Sherlock," John warned, but it was already too late.

"Besides what?" Molly asked.

"You think Duncan is nice because he was flirting with you."

"That's crazy," Molly said. "He was doing no such thing. We were just talking for a few moments."

"Since when does talking to someone require them putting their hand on your bottom?"

"He…he didn't," Molly sputtered.

"Only because I placed myself between the two of you. I assure you he was going for it," Sherlock said in no uncertain terms.

Molly turned to John for support. John hated getting pulled in the middle of this but he had to admit the truth. He looked at Molly. "He was going for it," John said.

"Fine, whatever," Molly said. She sat back in her chair and let out a small huff. Molly didn't speak to either of them for the rest of the drive back. She didn't speak to them when they carried in the groceries or while she put them away. John and Sherlock both gave a flinch when she finally went to her room and slammed the door.


	8. The Person Who Means the Most

**Author's Note: Two chapters in one night! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

 **Chapter 8-The Person Who Means the Most**

"Well," John said as he clapped his two hands together and rocked on his heels. "I think now is a perfect time to go pick up Rosie. We can have a little time together before we go back for dinner tonight."

"Coward," Sherlock said. Rubbing his temples. Molly was mad at him and he hadn't even said anything that was rude, at least he didn't think he had. "For the record, why exactly is she mad at me?"

"Well, you implied she is a bad judge of character," John explained.

"Well, that's true, though. She thought Moriarty was straight and boyfriend material. She thought Duncan was just being nice. She almost married a man who thought it possible to commit murder with a meat dagger! It's not that she's a bad judge of character, but she is definitely gullible!"

"Perhaps, but she's not so gullible that she doesn't see right through you. Also, are you speaking as a consulting detective right now, or more like a jealous fiancé?"

"I'm not being jealous. I'm…I'm concerned."

"Why?" John asked.

"I'm concerned that Molly, sweet, trusting, loveable, Molly, might not recognize a dangerous man for what he is. I'm afraid her kind heart will get her killed," Sherlock explained.

"I'll be careful. I promise," Molly said from behind them. Neither of them heard her open the door and come out of the room.

"Well, excuse me. I must go get Rosie," John said and quickly left the room.

"I'm sorry I was rude," Sherlock started.

"You really think I am sweet and loveable?" Molly asked.

"And kind and trusting," Sherlock added. "Too trusting." Molly walked up and stood before him. He placed his hands on either side of her face. "I just want you to be safe. Someone in this town is a serial killer, and I have yet to deduce who it is. I need to know you are protected. I need to know you aren't going to open a door and let the killer walk right in."

"I'm not completely naïve," Molly said. "I did manage to survive the two years you were gone."

"I know, but with me gone no one was in danger due to my presence. No one could use the people I loved against me."

"If you are trying to scare me away forget it. I'm not going anywhere."

"Trusting but brave," Sherlock mumbled, then he leaned his head forward and kissed her deeply.

"Can you zip me up?" Molly asked. Sherlock finished tying his tie and then turned to assist Molly. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing a body hugging black A-line dress that flared out at the waist. The dress was off the shoulders with a heart shape neckline that showed Molly's cleavage. She wore her hair up with small little ringlets of curls hanging down framing her face. Around her neck was the thin gold chin with the heart shaped charm he bought her. She was also wearing three-inch patent black pumps.

"You look ravishing," Sherlock said. Molly graced him with a beautiful smile. She turned her back to him so he could pull up her zipper. Instead he ran his long fingers up her back, sending a shiver down her spine. He leaned in and placed small kisses going up her back and neck. Molly couldn't stop the small moan that escaped her mouth.

"You need to stop if we are going to go to this dinner," Molly warned.

"Damn the dinner," Sherlock mumbled, continuing to nuzzle her neck.

"What about the case?" Molly asked. Sherlock let out a long sigh. "Fine, but when we get home from dinner I expect us to continue where we are leaving off," Sherlock insisted. Finally he pulled up the zipper to her dress, placed one last kiss on her shoulder, and reached for his dinner jacket.

They stepped out into the living room. John was already sitting in the chair, dressed and ready. Rosie was in the floor on a blanket playing with her toys. She was wearing an adorable pink footie pajama.

"Ms. Poole said that Rosie can play in the nursery during dinner. Then we will bring her home with us afterwards."

"That sounds perfect," Molly said. She scooped up Rosie and nuzzled her tummy, making her laugh. John slipped his warm coat on and Molly handed Rosie back to him. Sherlock helped her put on her long wool coat and then pulled on his own Belstaff coat with his scarf. Sherlock opened the door and everyone was surprised to see that there was suddenly two inches of snow on the ground. When John had come back with Rosie earlier there had only been the occasional flurry.

"Oh darn, I need to change my shoes," Molly said.

"Leave it to me," Sherlock said. Before Molly even knew what was happening Sherlock had scooped her up into his arms. Molly squeaked and quickly circled her arms around his neck. Sherlock carried her out to the truck, opened the door and then slid her into the back seat. Molly blushed from ear to ear, yet she couldn't deny that was the sexiest thing a man had ever done for her.

John set Rosie into the car seat next to Molly. Molly quickly buckled Rosie up for the short drive to the main house. The drive only took five minutes until they were pulling up to the main entrance.

Molly was a little disappointed to see that the front of Roane Hall had been shoveled. Still, Sherlock opened the door for her and offered her his arm. She slipped hers into his and together they walked to the front door with John and Rosie behind them.

"Welcome back," a man wearing a suit said to them as he let them in. "My name is Alistar, the family is waiting for you in the library."

"Actually, Alistar," Sherlock said, "before we join the Thurgood's in the library would it be possible to see Ms. Lorna's bedroom?"

"I don't see why?" Alistar started.

"It is necessary for the case," Sherlock explained. He gestured with his hand that Alistar should lead the way.

"Very well. Follow me." Alistar led them up the grand staircase and then down the right wing of the house. The upstairs was just as ornate as the downstairs. There were actual suits of armor, large family portraits, antique furniture and items collected over centuries on display. They walked past many doors and finally came to one that Alistar stopped in front of. He pulled out a circle of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.

"Why is the door locked?" John asked.

"The constables asked that we stay out of the room and keep it secure for the time being."

The door swung open and Sherlock stepped inside the room. John stayed in the hallway with Rosie. Molly stepped inside the room behind Sherlock, careful not to touch anything. Molly watched as Sherlock took the whole of the room in. Molly looked around herself. The room was absolutely breathtaking. It was very feminine but not overly flowery like Agatha's room had been. Molly examined the vanity table. The most beautiful set of silver brushes and a hand held mirror was on it. A large bottle of Dior perfume set on top of a mirrored plate along with several pieces of jewelry.

Molly turned to see Sherlock open the wardrobe and start examining the clothes inside. Lorna had great taste, Molly saw. Sherlock stopped to look at a pin on one of Lorna's coats.

"University of Saint Andrews," Sherlock mumbled. He walked over to the bedside table. A dead bouquet of flowers sat on the nightstand. "My dearest Lorna, you have made me so happy, Love Henry." Sherlock read.

"Those must be the ones Agatha brought to the house," Molly said.

"Precisely," Sherlock replied.

Sherlock opened the drawer to the small desk that was in the room. He began to look through the assorted papers inside. "This is nothing but plans and receipts for fundraising projects that she was helping Lady Thurgood with." He spotted her calendar on top of the desk. He flipped the pages. Again it was nothing but work details. There was mention of a holiday she had planned in the next month to go with Henry to Aruba. Other than that there was nothing here to explain why the murderer had targeted her.

"Lorna did not die in this room. If the room has truly been preserved since the moment she went missing there is nothing here to suggest a struggle happened here. So for some reason Lorna left the house and met her killer."

"Where is her mobile phone?" Molly asked. "The cord to charge it is next to her night stand but the phone itself is not here."

"It wasn't with the evidence collected by the constables which implies the killer took it or disposed of it somewhere," Sherlock said. "Perhaps we can get the records. I believe I have all I need." Finally he and Molly stepped out of the room and Alistar finally led them to the library.

Inside the library Dickey, Lady Thurgood, Angelica, Ms. Poole and the children were all collected.

Cecilia and Thomas rushed over to John to see Rosie again.

"Hi Rosie," Cecelia said. "Come on. Come play Rosie. Look, see what I got."

John smiled at the little girl's enthusiasm. He set Rosie down on the floor and watched as Rosie giggled and crawled over to the pile of toys Thomas and Cecelia had brought with them into the library.

"May I get you all a drink?" Dickey asked, holding up a decanter of scotch.

"Yes, please," John said. Sherlock nodded an affirmative.

"No, thank you," Molly replied.

"Lady Thurgood," Molly said.

"Please, call me Ainsley," she replied.

"Fine," Molly replied. "The night that Lorna died, can you think of any reason why she would leave her room?"

"No. We had returned home from a girls' night out to celebrate her engagement. It had been loads of fun. We all drank way too much but we had a driver so we didn't care. I don't really let my hair down too often as they say. I'm usually much too busy for that sort of thing, but that night we did have a grand time of it. Several of our friends from University joined us. It was a rare time when we all got together. It's hard to imagine that such a joyous night ended so tragically."

"While out on your girls night did you happen to bump into anyone you knew?" Sherlock asked.

"We know most of the people in town."

"Did you bump into Duncan, or the florists grandson, Charlie?" John asked.

"Duncan was our driver than night," Ainsley replied. "As for Charlie, I do believe he was at one of the pubs we went too. We started at the local pub here in town before going to Inverness to visit a club. It was a Friday night though, practically any young person here would be at the pub."

"Did Duncan pay extra attention to Lorna?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not really. If anything he seemed rather taken with my friend Gemma. Duncan is very handsome, and an insatiable flirt, but he is a hard worker and has been with the family for as long as I can remember."

"What about Charlie?"

"Charlie didn't interact with us. I saw him at the pub and he saw us, but he didn't come over to chat," Lorna said. "Mr. Drever's oldest son, Liam, came over to talk with us, as did several other local gentlemen."

"How old is Liam?" John asked.

"I'd say he is about thirty."

"Is he strong? Strong enough to carry the weight of a dead woman out onto the moors for two kilometers?" Sherlock asked.

"I…I suppose so. He looks strong and healthy. Plus, Lorna was rather small. She didn't weigh that much," Ainsley said sadly.

Something about Ainsley's comment made Sherlock look over at Molly, his Molly, so tiny, sitting on the loveseat, the skirt of her dress fanning out around her legs.

"Dinner is served," Alistar announced, entering the room.

"Thank you, Alistar," Dickey said.

"Ms. Poole, will you please take the children to the kitchen and see to their supper," Ainsley asked.

"Of course," Ms. Poole replied.

Alistar led the way to the formal dining room. Sherlock was disappointed to see Molly was placed across the table from him and that Angelica was positioned right next to him. A trolley was rolled out carrying dinner. There was squash soup for the first course, along with baked fish in a caper sauce and roasted vegetables. It smelled delicious.

"So," Angelica said. "Of all your cases what was your favorite one?"

"I don't know. There have been so many," Sherlock replied.

"Surely one must stand out from the rest, though," Angelica persisted.

"I guess that would probably be The Hound of Baskerville. That was a rather fun case," Sherlock replied.

"Yes, loads of fun, until the moment you exposed me to fear gas and locked me in a room," John said.

"You didn't," Molly said, looking at Sherlock, her soupspoon paused midair.

Sherlock sighed. "It was a necessary experiment. I knew I had been exposed to the drug the night before. I needed to see John's reaction to confirm my own experiences, especially the power of suggestion."

"Have you caught many murderers," Angelica continued.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Of all of them who was the worst?"

Sherlock had to think about that one. It would have been easy for him to say Moriarty, but then again, Culverton Smith had probably killed as many people as Moriarty had, and Smith's motivations for murder were far more deranged than Moriarty's. Then, heaven forbid, there was his own sister. Sherlock couldn't even fathom how many people she had killed.

"Honestly," Sherlock said. "All murderers are evil. Whether they kill for sport, for motive, or for pleasure. Once you decide to take a life for any reason other than defense you have blackened your soul."

"Perhaps I can go with you tomorrow while you work on your case. I would love to see you in action," Angelica said, a little too seductively.

"I don't think that would be wise," Sherlock said.

"Why?" Angelica asked.

"Because you could potentially draw the killers attention to yourself. If the killer feels threatened by your actions he could make you the next target," Sherlock said.

"I agree," Lady Thurgood said. "You will most certainly not work on this case. In fact I have made arrangements for you to travel to America tomorrow. You will be staying with Gemma in New York."

"But why?" Angelica demanded. "I'm not engaged to be married. I don't even have a boy friend. Why would the killer target me?"

"Veronica Marsh didn't have a boyfriend and the killer still targeted her," Molly said.

"Veronica Marsh had been secretly dating Father Clark for over a year," Angelica said. "Father Clark was getting ready to propose to her."

"Angelica, it is not nice to spread gossip. You have no way of knowing if that is true or not," Ainsley admonished.

"Wait, this could be important," Sherlock said. "Please, I need to know what you know, and how you came about this information."

"I also volunteer at the cathedral. Charity work is a big part of our family. Veronica was there every Sunday, cleaning, working, and listening to Father Clark as he practiced his sermons. There was also gossip in town about how she would visit Father Clark during the week to take him hot meals. Father Clark was in love with her and he adored Vicky, her daughter."

"So why didn't he just propose? Why keep it a secret?" John asked.

"Because Veronica was a divorcee. The church wouldn't grant his request for a marriage," Angelica said.

"I thought she was a widow. That's why the sister is raising her child now," Molly said.

"No, her husband ran off to America and abandoned her. No one knows where he is. He's been gone for years. But the church still recognizes the marriage even if legally Veronica was able to get a divorce due to abandonment. There was even talk of Father Clark leaving the church so he would be free to marry her."

"Mr. Holmes, my sister is spreading village gossip. This story may be true, or it could be a work of complete fantasy," Lady Thurgood explained.

"True, but I do think a discreet visit to Father Clark is in order none the less. So is there any other village gossip I should know about?" Sherlock asked Angelica.

"Only that the great Sherlock Holmes is in town to catch the serial killer. Some are saying your engagement is a fake, that you used it as a cover to come here, pretending to be looking for wedding destinations," Angelica said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she looked over at Molly and saw the hurt in her face.

"Angelica!" Lady Thurgood gasped.

"I can assure you," Sherlock said, "my engagement to Molly is very real. I asked her to marry me because I love her and because I want to be married to her." Sherlock looked to Molly, wanting her to believe him. She gave him a small smile, but it wasn't totally sincere. She was putting on a brave face. He hated to see the doubt in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking, She was thinking about Janine, and how he faked proposing to her to get access to Magnusson's office.

Molly turned her attention back to her meal and swallowed a bite of the fish, which she washed down with a large gulp of the white wine being served with dinner. Sherlock noticed the slight tremble in her hand as she placed her wine goblet back on the table.

The rest of the meal passed rather uneventfully. There was small talk about the weather, the excessive amount of rain this season, and of Dickey's latest business dealings. Sherlock was bored by all of it. The only thing he wanted to do was talk to Molly, reassure her and calm her fears. He was greatly annoyed that Angelica had said such an awful thing.

Molly felt relief when the meal was finally over and they were able to collect Rosie and return to their cottage. She thanked Dickey and Ainsley for the fine meal and let Sherlock put her coat on her. She was suddenly feeling exhausted, which wasn't that surprising considering she had been on the train last night an got very little sleep and they had been working the case all day today non-stop. Two large glasses of wine hadn't helped either. She needed a real night's sleep.

The cold air outside woke her up enough to get into the truck. The drive back to the cottage was so short Molly just cuddled with Rosie in the back seat instead of buckling her into the car seat.

Rosie was all bundled up against the cold and was absolutely precious in her pink and white fuzzy snowsuit. Sherlock pulled up in front of the cottage. John collected Rosie from Molly. Molly was about to get out of the back seat but Sherlock was there once more because of the snow. He effortlessly slid his arms under and around Molly and lifted her out of the back seat. He kicked the door shut with his foot. Molly stared into his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"This…this isn't just for the case, is it? The engagement?" Molly sounded so timid.

"No, it's not. I swear to your, I would never do that to you. I would never deliberately hurt you like that."

"You have…in the past."

"I know, but never again," Sherlock said. "I swear it, never again." He carried her through the door and gently set her down on her feet.

"But Janine?"

Sherlock placed his hands on Molly's waist and held her tight. "You are not Janine. You are Molly, Molly Hooper, my Molly, the person who means the most. I put that ring on your finger because I love you. If you will have me I want to be your husband." Sherlock watched John carry Rosie upstairs, careful to give him and Molly a little privacy.

"Promise me you won't break my heart." Molly begged. "Please."

"I promise. Ever since Euros…since that day, when…when I had to look at a coffin that was made for you. I felt so helpless. I truly believed your flat was rigged to explode. I truly thought I was going to lose you that day. I couldn't be sure that Euros wouldn't kill you just for the emotional context even if I did get you to say the words. She had already murdered several people in front of me simply to see my reaction." Sherlock closed his eyes, remembering that day. "Your safety and happiness have become a top priority of mine. I won't lose you, Molly Hooper. I can't lose you."

Molly raised her hand and placed a finger on his lips to silence him. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." Then she graced him with another smile, but this one was pure Molly, right from the heart. Sherlock leaned in to kiss her and quickly undid the bottom on her wool coat and slid it off her shoulders. He tossed it onto the couch. A moment later his own long coat was tossed on top of hers. Sherlock once more swept Molly off her feet and carried her into the bedroom.


	9. A Damsel in Distress

**Author's Note: I have really enjoyed writing this chapter and know where the next couple of chapters are going! Thanks for reading!**

 **Chapter 9-A Damsel in Distress**

Sherlock woke the next morning feeling truly rested. Molly was snuggled next to him, her head nuzzled next to his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Sherlock sighed. He would be perfectly happy to wake up like this every day for the rest of his life. He raised his hand so he could brush a lock of hair out of Molly's face.

Molly's eyes fluttered and opened. Soon they focused on Sherlock's smiling face. "Good morning," she said.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, you?"

"I always sleep well when I am with you." It was true Sherlock realized. Something about having Molly beside him when he slept kept the nightmares at bay as well as his own thoughts. Usually on a case he would be lucky to grab an hour or two of sleep here or there because his own mind would keep him awake. With Molly, all he felt was peace.

A loud thumping noise came from upstairs along with a high-pitched laughing. The thumping continued over and over.

"What is that?" Molly asked.

"That is Rosie. She wakes up every morning laughing and jumping in her crib since she learned how to pull herself up. She'll then plop on her bottom only to pull herself up and start all over."

"How sweet," Molly said.

"Yes, we best get up. John will be bringing her down for breakfast any second. Plus, we have a very busy day ahead." Sherlock placed a quick kiss on her forehead before getting out of bed and heading to the shower.

Molly stretched out in the bed and took a moment to marvel over how different her life was now compared to two months ago. She never in her wildest dreams thought that Sherlock Holmes would actually love her, want her. Yet, here she was, engaged to the man of her dreams. She felt like the luckiest woman alive. She was also having a grand time on this case. Her boring little life suddenly felt like one big adventure.

Molly got up and pulled on her nightgown and matching robe. She tossed her hair up in a messy bun and stepped out into the kitchen. John was already there putting Rosie in her high chair.

"Good morning," John said.

"Morning," Molly replied. She filled the kettle full of water and put it on to boil. Then she bent over Rosie. "Good morning, sweetie." She planted a quick kiss on the little girls cheek. Molly then made three cups of tea.

"Oh, thank you," John said gratefully.

Sherlock stepped out of the room just in time to take his cup. His curls were still damp from his shower.

"Today we need to investigate the crime scenes out on the moors, and then we need to speak with Father Clark," Sherlock said.

"No problem. As soon as we eat we can drop off Rosie and get down to business."

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

"Thank you again for watching Rosie," John said to Ms. Poole.

"It's the least I can do. I just hope you are able to stop these murders."

"We will do our best," John said.

Ms. Poole took Rosie out of the room. John turned back to look at the others who were already making plans.

"Duncan is ready to take you out any time you are ready to go," Dickey said.

"You aren't coming?" John said.

"No, definitely not. Tromping across the moors is not my thing even during the dry season. You do need to be careful out there. It has been very rainy lately and that will make the ground incredibly soft. Also, ask Duncan if he checked the weather. You don't want to be out there should the weather turn."

"Molly, why don't you head on back to our cottage? You can have a rest if you want while John and I head out on the moor," Sherlock suggested.

"Not a chance. I'm going out there too." Molly said.

"You're hardly dressed for hiking on peat bogs," Sherlock said.

"Neither are you," Molly replied.

"Touché," Sherlock grinned. "Still, this could be dangerous. I think you stay here."

"I'm going with you. All I need is to change clothes and I will be fine," Molly insisted.

"We have a variety of hiking gear," Dickey said. "Boots, waders, jackets, both men's and women's. We make a point of having items on hand for guests and customers."

"Perfect," Molly said happily.

"I don't suppose there is anyone else besides Duncan who can escort us to the crime scene?" Sherlock asked Dickey.

"No, afraid not. Mathew is driving Angelica to Inverness right now. Duncan is the only one available," Dickey said.

"Mate, you can't stop her from coming," John whispered to Sherlock. "You are the one who brought her out here. You can't very well tell her to go have a rest when the game has just begun." He was careful not to have the Thurgood's hear him refer to the murders as a game, but he knew full well Sherlock would get his meaning loud and clear.

"Quite right," Sherlock agreed reluctantly. Still, that didn't mean he had to like the idea of Molly going out on the moors, especially with Duncan with them.

Xoxo xoxo xoxo 

An hour later Sherlock, John, and Molly were carefully plodding their way through the moor following Duncan's directions very carefully. John found it rather exhausting, constantly hopping from one firm patch of peat to the next. Plus, even what Duncan called firm ground never really felt like firm ground. The thick layers of peat shook like jelly and squished like giant sponges as they traversed them. It didn't take long before John had worked up a sweat. He looked over to see Molly sweating as well, but of course Sherlock looked none the worse after an hour of hiking, hopping, and jumping.

The problem with working up a sweat out here was that it just resulted in one's feeling even colder. It was bloody freezing outside. The open terrain meant the wind blew right threw you, plus the temperature was near freezing before the wind kicked in. Even with multiple layers of clothing on John was still cold.

"Molly, how are you doing?" John asked.

"I'm okay," Molly replied. She was a bit winded, yet the look on her face said she still found all of this to be a grand adventure.

"We can't go any farther," Duncan announced. Duncan was a large man, lean and solidly built from a lifetime of physical labor. John figured he was probably only thirty years old but the wrinkles around his eyes spoke of a man who had lived his life outdoors. He was strong and healthy, and moved about the moor as easily as a child on a playground.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, scouting the area.

"The rains have been especially heavy this season. If you try to go any father you'll just sink up to your armpits in mud. You might even drown. There are grasses and weeds below the surface, when people struggle they wrap themselves around your legs and you get trapped. Panic takes over and you drown from your own struggles," Duncan warned.

"Sounds awful," Molly said.

"Aye, it tis," Duncan agreed.

"Unfortunately, all this rain means any trace evidence would be gone by now," Molly said.

"Most likely," Duncan agreed, "Especially for the first one. I can take you to where Miss Lorna died last week. Perhaps there will still be something there to help you."

"That would be wise," Sherlock said. He was frustrated that he could not see the actual sight.

"Follow me," Duncan ordered. He turned to the left and started walking west of their current location.

As they walked a light rain began to fall and the fog seemed to roll in from nowhere. In no time at all it felt like they were the only people on the planet.

"How on earth do you find your way?" Molly asked. "I would be terribly lost."

"I grew up on these moors," Duncan replied. "I know them like I know the back of my own hand."

"So, Lorna was found closer to the house than Sarah?" John asked.

"Yes," Duncan replied.

"That makes sense. Sarah was killed before the rainy season. The dry moor would have made it easy for him to carry her further out to avoid detection. But with the ground so wet now he couldn't do the same for Lorna," Sherlock said.

They continued on for about another thirty minutes when Duncan finally announced they were at the spot.

"This is where they found Lorna," Duncan said, pointing to where they needed to look.

Molly recognized the area because of the large rock that jutted out of the ground. She had seen it in the crime scene photos back at the police station.

Sherlock began to look around. There was a yellow flag on a wire pole that had been inserted into the ground next to a fairly large boulder, obviously for the constables to mark the location where the body had been found. Unfortunately there was little else to show that any crime had taken place here. He grew ever more angry at the realization that the wind and rain had eroded away anything even remotely like a footprint or signs of a struggle.

"Blasted rain," Sherlock cursed.

John and Molly had also begun to fan out scouring the ground for any kind of evidence at all. Duncan followed Molly, pretending to be looking out for her.

"How are you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm okay, but it is freezing out here."

"I'm used to it. The cold doesn't really bother me," Duncan said.

Molly continued to examine the ground closely. "Do you miss her?"

"Miss Lorna, you mean?" Duncan asked.

"Yes," Molly answered.

"Lorna and I weren't really that close. She was a bit stuck up. Thought she was too good to associate with the household staff."

"Did you two ever go out? Like on a date?" Molly asked.

"No," Duncan said. "I asked her out once, but she shot me down in half a second. I never bothered trying again."

"I saw her photo. She was very beautiful."

"A pretty face doesn't mean all that much if a woman's heart is as cold as ice," Duncan said. "Take you for example. You might not be as pretty as Lorna was, but you seem to have a heart of gold. That makes you far more beautiful than Lorna could have ever been."

"You barely know me," Molly said. "You can't possibly know what kind of heart I have."

"I'm a pretty good judge of character. I may not be as smart as Sherlock Holmes, but I know a beautiful person when I see one." Duncan suddenly took Molly's hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Molly quickly pulled her hand away. Duncan was being entirely too forward. Molly wasn't so naïve that she didn't know Duncan was hitting on her.

"Molly," John said. "Why don't you go see if Sherlock needs any help?"

"Y-yes," Molly said and moved away from Duncan to go over to Sherlock.

Duncan was about to follow when John stepped in front of him and put a hand on their guides chest. "Listen, mate. I'm not a fool, and neither is Molly or Sherlock. Back off. Leave Molly alone."

"Or what?" Duncan asked.

"You do realize that Sherlock and I solve murders for a living. We have seen some of the most amazing, terrifying, and potentially unsolvable deaths ever to happen. They were only solved because Sherlock is a high functioning sociopath who knows how to think like a murderer. No one understands murder better than Sherlock Holmes. No one. So before you continue to try to get into his fiancé's pants you might want to keep that thought in the front of your mind." Duncan stared at John for a moment before finally turning and walking away.

After ten minutes of fruitless looking Sherlock finally gave up. "This is useless," he stated.

"Even if the killer did drop something behind," Molly said, "it's long since been buried in the mud."

"Right, then I'll lead you all back," Duncan said. "Follow me. Stay close! With the fog this thick it is hard to find people even when they call out." Duncan didn't wait for them to respond. He was pissed at being thwarted by the damn doctor. He turned and started walking back to the house.

Sherlock was deep in concentration mulling over the facts of the case and the information he had so far. All the bodies dumped on the moor, the weather affecting the distance from Roane Hall, except for Veronica Marsh, who was dumped behind the cathedral. Veronica was dumped behind the cathedral, not Roane Hall. There had to be a reason for that. Of course, Veronica was supposedly in love with Father Clark. The village gossip was that Father Clark was going to propose. That would make her a bride to be. Why hadn't he seen it before? The serial killer wasn't just murdering brides. He was murdering love itself! The two brides and Lorna had been dumped at Roane Hall because the house was a representation of love for them, but for Veronica Roane Hall meant nothing. Father Clark and the cathedral was where her love lay, so the murderer made a point of dumping her body there, desecrating the ground, the cathedral, and Veronica's and Father Clarks love!

He now had the motive for the killings, which could help him track down the murderer. It was obvious that the murderer was someone who had been burned by love; someone who had offered his heart and had it ripped apart and thrown back into his face. He was so deep in thought and paying attention to staying on firmer ground that he had not noticed Molly falling farther behind.

Molly tried to keep up, she really did. Duncan moved so quickly, and Sherlock's long legs made it easy for him to match Duncan's pace. John was moving a little slower but not much. It wasn't long before Molly was falling behind even though she tried to run. She was huffing and puffing from physical exertion.

Suddenly the light drizzle that had been falling all morning became a steady downpour. The rain mixed with the thick fog and hampered visibility even more.

Molly had stopped for just a moment to catch her breath. She bent over double and placed her hands on her knees to draw in a few icy cold lungful's of air. She couldn't believe how much work it was to constantly jump from one firm patch of ground to the next. Plus the wind and the rain were numbing her small frame very quickly. The heavy rain penetrated her clothes and she was insanely cold. Finally having caught her breath she was ready to keep going. When she looked up again to continue on she felt a moment of panic. The others were nowhere to be seen. She was completely enveloped by the fog.

"Oh god," Molly mumbled. "SHERLOCK! JOHN! SHERLOCK!"

John was the first to hear Molly's cries of help. "Sherlock! Molly's gone!"

"What?" Sherlock said coming back to the present. He looked around frantically. "Where is she? MOLLY!" He immediately began to retrace his steps. "MOLLY!"

"Be careful," Duncan ordered, now following from behind instead of acting as leader.

"Here! I'm here!" Molly was afraid to move for fear of wandering off in the wrong direction. She could hear their voices but in the blinding fog it was difficult to tell where they were coming from. She figured if she just stayed put they would find her. Molly was unnerved by how alone she felt, how isolated. "Sherlock!"

"MOLLY!" Sherlock shouted. How could have been so stupid as to let her fall behind? Molly was supposed to be his first priority and two days into a case he abandoned her out on the moors. John had specifically warned him not to do this. "MOLLY!"

"HERE!" She heard his voice loud and clear now and knew from which direction he was coming. Molly began walking in the direction of Sherlock's voice. "I'm here!" She started to move faster, wanting to be reunited with him and John. "Sherlock!" Molly was no longer paying attention to where she was walking, so focused on Sherlock's voice. The next thing she knew the ground under her feet gave way and she was suddenly submerged under the icy water. She flailed her arms wildly trying to push herself up towards the surface.

Sherlock had seen Molly through a small clearing of the fog and was almost to her when she suddenly disappeared from view. His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized Molly had fallen into an opening in the peat.

 **I am dying to hear from you all and know what you think!**


	10. Loving Molly Hooper

**Author's Note: Thank you for your reviews! I love hearing back from you. Sorry this chapter took a while. We had a power outage that has lasted for three days.**

 **Chapter 10~ Loving Molly Hooper**

Molly swam to the surface. Her bulky hiking gear was rapidly soaking up the freezing water and weighing her down but she finally broke though. "AHHHHHH!" Molly screamed. "AHHHHHH!" The water was so cold it felt like a thousand knives penetrating her skin. "Oh god, Sherlock!" she cried.

Sherlock rushed to where he saw Molly disappear. Thank god she shot back up but she was now neck deep in a freezing bog. "Molly!" he shouted. John was right on his heels, as was Duncan.

Sherlock threw himself down on the ground and spread himself out flat and crawled the last few feet towards Molly. "Molly, grab my hand," he ordered. John quickly put himself down on the ground next to Sherlock. He grabbed hold of Sherlock's coat to give him some leverage to help pull Molly out of the bog.

Molly was terrified but Sherlock was there. He would get her out. Molly reached out her hand and Sherlock stretched long to grab it.

"I got you," he said. He carefully began to pull her closer to him. He reached out his other hand and soon he had her by both arms and was pulling her out while John was pulling him back as well.

Finally, he had Molly back on firmer ground. He quickly enveloped her in his arms and held her as she cried. "I've got you," Sherlock told her. "I've got you." Molly held him tightly. "Molly, I'm so sorry."

Molly clung to Sherlock like a lifeline. She was so relieved to be safe in his arms but her relief was short lived when a large gust of wind raced across the moor and the bitter cold cut through her now soaked and useless clothes.

"We have to get her back to the cottage," John said. "We need to hurry."

Sherlock realized that Molly might be safe from drowning but now they had to worry about hypothermia. Molly was soaked and her chattering teeth was all Sherlock needed to hear to know that her body temperature was already dropping.

"Molly, can you walk?" Sherlock asked. "We need to get you warm?"

"Yes," Molly sniffed. Sherlock and John got on either side of Molly and helped her up.

"Duncan, lead the way," Sherlock ordered. "Now!"

Duncan quickly turned around and started moving in the direction of the cottage. Sherlock and John had to put their faith in Duncan. Between the fog and the pouring rain they couldn't see much of anything. Fifteen minutes passed and Molly's shivers were becoming more pronounced.

"How much father?" Sherlock asked Duncan.

"About another twenty minutes at this pace," Duncan said.

"Damn," John complained. "That's too long." John was also freezing but like Sherlock his main concern was getting Molly back to the house and getting her warm. It was a miracle she was still able to walk at all. She was so small and petite her core body temperature would drop quickly the longer they were out here.

Molly had stopped talking. Her every thought was on putting one foot in front of the other. She was so cold. She couldn't remember ever being this cold. She was already losing feeling in her hands and feet and her teeth were chattering so hard that she half expected her teeth to shatter from the repeated impacts.

Sherlock was very much aware of Molly's distress. He also noticed that she was slowing down and having difficulty walking. John had positioned himself on her other side and they were both pretty much carrying her at this point.

"Molly, come on, you need to keep moving," Sherlock said softly to her.

"S-so c-cold," Molly stuttered.

"I know. We just need to get you back. We'll get you warmed up in no time." Sherlock tried to sound positive, encouraging, desperate to hide the fear he was feeling from his voice. They managed to keep her on her feet for another ten minutes or so but then without warning Molly's head fell forward and Sherlock and John had to both tighten their grip on her to keep her from falling.

"Molly," Sherlock called, giving her a shake. "Molly!" he yelled more urgently. It was no use. Molly had lost consciousness.

"We have to get her back now!" John said.

Sherlock lifted Molly up and began to carry her. Even with the added burden of carrying Molly he still moved as quick as his legs could, careful to step exactly where Duncan stepped. He couldn't risk Molly plunging into the freezing water once more. Sherlock lost track of time. His only concern was forward momentum. His only desire was to get Molly warm.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was really probably ten minutes or so, the cottages came into view. John and Duncan raced ahead to make way for Sherlock. John got the door open.

"Take her straight to the bathroom," he ordered.

Sherlock carried Molly's unconscious form to the bathroom in the master bedroom. John followed Sherlock into the bathroom.

"Get those wet clothes off her," John ordered as he started to fill the tub with warm water.

Sherlock spared only a second to rip off his own coat before concentrating on getting the now useless bulky items off of Molly. Coat, hiking boots, hat, socks, jumper, and even pants were all stripped off of her. By the time Sherlock lifted her to place her in the tub all she had left were her undergarments. John quickly laid a towel over her to afford her a little privacy.

Sherlock began to rub vigorously at Molly's limbs, trying to speed up the warming process.

"Is there anything I can do?" Duncan asked, looking intently at a half naked Molly in the tub.

"Yes, get out," Sherlock demanded.

"This isn't my fault," Duncan said. "I told you all to not wander off."

"No one is blaming you," John said. "But you need to leave. We can take it from here." John just wanted the man to leave before Sherlock came undone.

"Are you sure? Should I call 999?" Duncan asked.

"I'm a doctor," John said. "I'm sure, now go!"

Sherlock paid no mind to Duncan and John's bantering. He concentrated on Molly. She was so pale and her lips were tinged blue.

"We need to warm her up from the inside out," John said. "I'm going to go make some hot tea. You stay with her and keep her head above water."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sherlock said. The devil himself couldn't have made him leave Molly's side. How could he have been so negligent of her safety? She was in this mess because he had failed her like he had Mary. He felt the bile rise up in his throat but he forced it back down. "Molly, I can't lose you. I can't."

He was careful to hold her tight as the hot water in the tub climbed higher and higher. He could hear John moving about the kitchen quickly, searching cabinets, opening and shutting doors.

"Molly," Sherlock said. "Molly, can you hear me?" He waited for her to open her eyes, move a hand, do something but there was nothing at all. He stared into her face and was at least relived to see that the blue tinge to her lips was fading, ever so slightly, but fading nonetheless. The warm water was bringing back some of her color. Sherlock picked up a washcloth with his free hand and dipped it into the water. He gently wiped the mud and moss from Molly's face. He repeated the action several times until her face was clean, but he noticed her hair was full of muck. He gently lowered her down into the water, careful to keep her face above the surface, but down enough so that soon her long hair was fanning out around her head. He gently used his long fingers to free the dirt and debris from her long tresses. His ministrations were rewarded with Molly's eyes slowly fluttering open. She looked very confused.

"Sherlock?" she whispered.

"You're safe now," Sherlock told her. "Just stay still. You need to warm up."

"What…how?"

"You fainted. We brought you back as fast as possible," Sherlock explained.

John entered with a cup of tea. Molly should have felt embarrassment, being half naked in front of John, but her mind was still a bit foggy, and she felt confused.

"Thank god, you're awake," John said, seeing Molly's eyes open. He handed Sherlock the cup. "I'll just give you two a bit of privacy then. Call me if you need me." He pulled the door closed behind him as he left.

Sherlock pulled Molly up some in the tub and with his free hand he held the cup up to her lips. Molly drank deeply from the warm drink. It felt so good as it moved down her throat. She could feel the warmth spreading inside her as she swallowed down even more.

"Why did you wander off?" Sherlock asked, fear and anger creeping into his voice.

"I...I didn't. I was following behind, but…but I couldn't keep up. Duncan was going so fast because he was mad at John and me." Molly suddenly began to cry. "I'm sorry. I really tried. Please don't be angry."

Sherlock looked intensely into Molly's eyes and used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. "I'm not angry with you, but why didn't you say something? We could have slowed down." The anger was gone but not the fear of what could have happened.

"I didn't want you to regret bringing me. I don't want to be a hindrance."

"Don't you realize, case or no case, your safety means the world to me. You could have died out there. I could have lost you. I…I can't lose you." Molly was such a part of Sherlock's life now he honestly couldn't imagine a world without her in it. John may be what kept Sherlock grounded, but Molly, dear, sweet Molly, she was the only person who made Sherlock human.

"I'm sorry," Molly said.

Sherlock raised her up so he could embrace her. Molly laid her cheek against his.

"Your freezing cold too," Molly said.

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied, dismissing her concerns about him. "Why did you say Duncan was angry at you and John?"

Molly looked at Sherlock nervously. She was afraid of how he might react.

"Molly, please. I need to know what happened out there," Sherlock insisted.

"Duncan was being very flirtatious," Molly said. "He was making me feel uncomfortable. John saw what was happening. John made him stop."

"I failed you. Please forgive me. I was so obsessed with hunting down the facts of the case that I neglected to keep you safe."

"Don't be an idiot. You rescued me from the bog. You carried me in your arms to bring me home. You and John prevented me from developing hypothermia."

"You never should have been in danger in the first place."

"Stop," Molly said. "I'm okay. We are all okay, and honestly, there is no place in the world that I would rather be than right here with you, right now. Yes, I had a scare earlier, but I have also felt more alive these past couple of days than I have in years. Please…please don't send me away."

"Molly…"

"No, I know you. I know you are thinking about it. You want to protect me and for you the easiest way to do that would be to pack me up and ship me back off to London. I won't go! I'm not leaving. I'm not a child, Sherlock. I'm not made of glass!" Molly was becoming slightly frantic in her argument, her voice rising with every passing word. Sherlock had seen this Molly before and knew the best and fastest way to calm her down.

With his hands still in her hair he pulled her up and kissed her. She fought it for just a moment, still wanting her voice to be heard, but finally she succumbed to his advances and returned the kiss, both of them only parting when the need for air arose.

"Are you finished?" Sherlock asked with a smirk on his face. Molly simply nodded her head up and down. "Good. I am not going to send you away. I won't lie. I did think about it, but I am selfish man, always have been, and I want you here with me.

Still clutching Molly to his chest he used one arm to open the drain to let the now cooling water drain and then he turned on the warm water to refill the tub. Next, he reached over and grabbed the bottle of shampoo.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked.

Sherlock gave her a crooked smile. "I'm taking care of you, Molly Hooper." Molly laid back and closed her eyes, grateful for the warmth of the water. Sherlock slowly rubbed the shampoo into her hair, making a thick lather. His long fingers messaged her scalp and the base of her neck. She sat up so he could use the sprayer to rinse the soap out. Then he repeated the entire process with the conditioner. Suddenly Sherlock realized why Molly always smelled like strawberries. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent he knew so well.

Since her skin no longer burned from the cold Molly allowed herself to relax and just enjoy the feeling of Sherlock's hands in her hair. She honestly couldn't remember a time when she had felt more relaxed, more loved. Once again Sherlock ran the warm water from the nozzle over her hair, rinsing out all the conditioner. Molly lay in the large claw foot tub for another five minutes, feeling so relaxed she was starting to doze off.

"Are you warm now?" Sherlock asked.

"Mmm hmm," Molly sighed sleepily. Now that she was safe and clean she suddenly felt incredibly tired.

Sherlock pulled the plug for the tub a second time and let the water start to drain. He grabbed a dry towel to wrap around Molly's long hair. He removed the wet towel off of her that John had tossed over her for modesty. He helped her to stand up in the tub and she unclasped her wet bra and dropped it to the floor. Sherlock then took one of the large bath sheets and draped it over her shoulders so she could pull it around herself.

Molly had a seat on the closed toilet. Her limbs felt heavy.

"How do you feel?" Sherlock asked her.

"Exhausted," Molly said truthfully.

"Go ahead and dry yourself. I'll grab you some clothes," he told her. "Just stay here though. I'll be right back."

Molly rubbed at her skin with the bath sheet. She also secured the towel around her hair a little better. Sherlock returned to her with a pretty yellow nightgown made of brushed cotton. He pulled it over her head. Molly slipped her arms through the sleeves. She stood up and let Sherlock wrap her in the matching robe. Finally she removed her wet underpants and pulled on a dry pair.

Sherlock walked her out of the bathroom and straight to the bed. He pulled back the covers and Molly gratefully climbed in. He pulled the blankets up to her chin and tucked her in. Then he had a seat on the side of the bed.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Molly asked.

Sherlock smiled. "You and John. You both have taken care of me on a number of occasions. Today was my turn to take care of you." Sherlock caressed Molly's cheek. "Do you need anything?"

"No," Molly said. "I'm good now. I think I'll just have a little sleep."

"All right. Close your eyes. I'll be right here."

"No," Molly said. "You need to go question Father Clark."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked. He was surprised that she would suggest it after the scare she had had. "I don't mind waiting for you to be up on your feet again."

"I'll be fine," Molly said. "You and John go do what you need to do. I'll be here when you get back and you can tell me what you learn."

"I don't know," Sherlock said. For the first time in his life the work didn't seem to be the most important thing anymore. For the first time ever there was something, no, someone, more important than the work.

Molly took Sherlock's hand in hers and gave him a comforting smile. "Really, go on ahead. There is no reason for you to sit here and watch me sleep. I'll be fine, I promise." Sherlock leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Sleep well, darling."

 **Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!**


	11. Family

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who left reviews! I am grateful for your support.**

 **Chapter 11-Family**

John sat behind the wheel of the truck once more. He had changed clothes and even grabbed a quick hot shower before leaving but he was still chilled. He looked over at his friend and saw Sherlock had closed his eyes. He was obviously deep in thought but whether it was about the case or about Molly he didn't know. He was still surprised that it was Molly who had ordered Sherlock to leave her behind and question Father Clark.

He couldn't remember a time when Sherlock had been willing to walk away from the work for even a few minutes. How many times had Sherlock focused on a case when he should have been paying attention to something else? Christ, he had texted all through Mary's labor and even Rosie's christening. He drugged the entire family on Christmas so he and John could run off and confront Magnusson.

So John still found it surprising that his best friend was willing to skip interviewing Father Clark in favor of sitting by Molly while she slept. John had been fearful initially when he realized that Sherlock and Molly were actually going to try to make a go of a relationship. He loved Sherlock, he did, but he knew Sherlock better than anyone and truthfully, he wasn't sure Sherlock could do it. He had wanted Sherlock to have a relationship and experience love, but he was worried for Molly, that she would get hurt in the process. John wasn't worried anymore. Today his best friend had showed him that he had his priorities in the right place.

"She's going to be just fine," John said.

"What?" Sherlock said, snapping out of his thoughts.

"Molly, she's going to be fine. I know you both had quite the scare. I admit it scared the hell out of me too when I saw her go under, but she's a tough one. She just needed to warm up a bit is all."

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock replied.

Sherlock's curt reply told John that Sherlock did not wish to talk about it any further so he let it go. John figured Sherlock was in the process of trying to catalog the feelings and the fear he had just experienced. John wouldn't push it. He would give his friend the space to sort it all out.

John turned the truck into the driveway that would lead them to the kirk. The kirk was set far back from the road and trees had been planted to line the drive to make it more scenic. It was very beautiful. Finally they pulled up in front of the ancient cathedral. John could feel the sense of history and timelessness the stone structure presented.

Sherlock got out of the vehicle and forced his head back in the game, He had been struggling to concentrate on the case. Images of Molly disappearing right before his eyes kept flashing in his mind. He knew John was right, that Molly was perfectly safe now, but he still found it shocking just how much his existence now depended on his tiny pathologist. He wondered what Euros would say if she could see him now?

Sherlock took a moment to examine the surroundings of the cathedral before entering the building. Because the building was set so far back from the road it was very private here. The tree lined drive also served as a wall between the modern world and the ancient. The kirk was on a large piece of solid ground and many trees had been planted here. He knew there was a moor behind the kirk but it must have been a ways back because he could not see it from his current vantage point.

Finally they went inside to find Father Clark. The cathedral was very ornate inside with statuary and carvings, old stained glass windows. But there was no Father Clark to be found. They exited and saw that there was a house set farther back nestled in a small grove a trees. The house was deliberately set far away so that it would not take away from the beauty of the kirk.

Father Clark opened the door as soon as they knocked. The man was not what Sherlock had expected. He had assumed Father Clark would be an older gentleman, fatherly even. This man was quite the opposite. Father Clark looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was physically fit and rather good-looking. He wasn't a ladies man, not like Duncan was, not with that full head of ginger hair, but Sherlock could imagine a fair number of Father Clark's parishioners having a little crush on the man.

"Father Clark?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my associate, Dr. Watson."

"So you did come. Sir Richard told me he was traveling to see you to ask for your assistance. Welcome, do come in." Father Clark opened the door wide so they could enter.

Father Clark's home was tidy, if a bit Spartan. The man apparently lived a low-key practical existence.

"Please, sit down," Father Clark said, motioning for Sherlock and John to have a seat. Father Clark had a seat in the chair across from the sofa.

"How well did you know the victims?" Sherlock started.

"I knew Veronica and Lorna pretty well. Veronica had been volunteering here for years. Lorna came often regarding wedding business. As for Sarah and Jessica, I had pre-marriage counseling with both couples, as is customary. Each couple came twice to visit with me for about an hour. We covered the basics, roles within marriage, children, handling disagreements. Both couples were very much in love. When the police accused the first husband of murder I never believed it was him."

"Forgive me, for this will probably seem rude, but where you and Veronica Marsh in love?" Sherlock asked. "I do not ask out of curiosity. I ask because I believe all the women were murdered because they were in love, or engaged to be married. The killer seems to be trying to kill love itself."

Father Clark released a deep sigh. Then he nodded his head in the affirmative. "Please, I would appreciate it if you can keep what I tell you a secret, but yes, Veronica and I were very much in love. We had been seeing each other for a little over a year. We had managed to keep it out of the public eye for most of that time. Several days before Veronica was murderer I asked her to marry me. I was prepared to walk away from the church if she said yes."

"And did she?" John asked.

"She did." Father Clark's eyes began to tear up but he fought to keep the tears at bay. "I loved her so much. Three days after she said yes I wrote a letter informing my superiors I was leaving the church. I was going to mail it the next day. Then Veronica went missing. Just like that! One day she was there, the next she was gone. When they…when they found her body out on the moor I thought…" Father Clark's voice cracked as he forced out the rest of his words. "I thought God was punishing me. He took Veronica to punish me for my sins." Now the man broke down and covered his face with his hands.

"Did you ever mail the letter?" Sherlock asked.

Father Clark shook his head. "I couldn't after that. I know Veronica is in heaven. I will spend the rest of my days on earth atoning for my sins. This way, God willing, when I die I will see her beautiful face once more."

Sherlock sighed. This man was not a murder suspect. "I am very sorry for your loss," Sherlock said. "I will refrain from telling your story if possible. Understand, if I must for the sake of capturing the murderer I may have no choice, but at the moment I see no reason why this needs to be repeated."

"I understand," Father Clark said. "I appreciate your efforts, and I do hope you find the person who did this."

Sherlock and John finally left and returned back to the car. They pulled out of the drive and John turned to head back to Roane Hall.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile from his pocket when it buzzed.

"Hello, Mycroft," Sherlock said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

John could hear Mycroft yelling through the phone, and he caught the smirk that was spreading across Sherlock's face.

" _How could you…17,000 pounds…you spent 17,000 pounds…I'm telling Mummy!"_

"Mummy is thrilled to have one of her sons finally getting married. She will hardly be mad at me for purchasing an engagement ring. Besides, it's my money, too. I know you are sole executor of the estate, but that is only because Uncle Rudy didn't trust giving a junkie access to a large sum of money. I am quite sure even Uncle Rudy would have consented to my being allowed to purchase an engagement ring for my fiancé."

" _What about everything else? All the clothes? The jewelry? I thought it was up to the bride's family to purchase the wedding trousseau?"_

"Molly doesn't have any family as I am sure you well know. Are you going to pretend like you didn't research her entire background when she first became a part of my life? Her father died several years ago and her mother died when she was just a child. All she has is a brother in America whom she sees every couple of years. I'm Molly's family now," Sherlock said, "and very soon you will be too."

" _Fine, Sherlock. I understand why you did it, but did it ever occur to you to just ask me? If you had told me why you needed the money I would have given it to you."_

"But where is the fun in that?" Sherlock said.

" _After Sherrinford I thought we were past these…these games."_

"Are you suggesting we actually behave like normal brothers? The kind who hang out and have a beer together after work? I know, we can paint our faces and go to a game one weekend."

" _You made your point Sherlock. Please tell Ms. Hooper that I offered my congratulations."_

"I am sure that will make Molly very happy to hear. Listen, while I have you on the phone, I need you to find all everything you can about Sarah Goodall, Jessica Mott, Veronica Marsh, and Lorna Grady. All of them are deceased. All of them have been killed by the same serial killer. I want everything, from where they were born, to what schools they attended to what their favorite kind of chips were. Everything."

" _I am surprised you are asking for my help. You don't usually involve me in your cases."_

"True, but this case feels different," Sherlock said.

" _How so, brother mine?"_

"Molly."

" _What about Ms. Hooper?"_

"Dr. Hooper," Sherlock corrected.

" _Apologies. Dr. Hooper. Again, why does Dr. Hooper make this case different from your other ones?"_

"I…it's…I have a feeling…a feeling that Molly might not be entirely safe here. I need to solve this case quickly."

" _You have a 'feeling'. Good god, is this what having a goldfish does to a brilliant mind?"_

"I have recently learn that it is possible to have a brilliant mind and a goldfish at the same time. You might want to give it a try."

"Goldfish?" John mumbled. "What in the hell are you two talking about?" Sherlock shushed him with a wave of his hand.

" _I think not, brother mine. I will attain the information you seek and have it transmitted to you."_

"Good-bye, Mycroft."

Xoxoxoxoxo

Molly got out of bed and stretched her limbs. She slid the towel off her now dry hair. She pulled on her slippers, walked over to the vanity, and ran a brush through her hair to get any knots out. She didn't feel like putting it in a ponytail or braiding it so she simply left it.

She went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She was feeling much better now. A rest had done her good. She searched through the cupboards and found a box of short bread. Perfect.

She poured a cup of tea and set two biscuits on the plate, ready to have a small afternoon snack.

A knock at the door startled her and she almost dropped her tea. Through the window she saw Ainsley Thurgood. She set her cup and small plate down on the table, tightened the belt of her robe, and opened the door.

"Lady Thurgood, what can I do for you?"

"Hello, Molly, may I come in?" She was holding a large basket.

"Yes, of course." Molly opened the door all the way. "Please excuse my appearance."

"No worries. You look lovely. Duncan told us what happened. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay. Duncan was very distraught about your accident. Here, I brought a basket of goodies. I thought perhaps you might be hungry." She passed the heavy basket to Molly.

"Thank you, that is very kind of you. I am feeling much better. Please tell Duncan that it was not his fault. There's no permanent damage." Molly set the heavy basket on the table. "I was just about to have some tea, would you like some?"

"Oh no, that's all right. Duncan will be very happy to hear you are all right. He wanted to come himself but I dare say he was a little afraid to face you. It must have been very frightening for you."

"It was, but luckily Sherlock and John were there to help right away."

"Well, I am very relieved to hear that you are not harmed."

Both Molly and Lady Thurgood turned to the door when there was yet another knock on it. There was Charlie, holding a large bouquet of flowers. Molly quickly opened the door.

"Hello, Charlie," Molly said. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi again. My Grams made me bring you these. She wanted to thank you for your company yesterday."

"They're beautiful," Molly said. "Yellow roses are my favorite."

"Well, if you and Mr. Holmes get married here I will be sure to tell Grams to have lots of yellow roses on hand then."

Molly smiled. "That is very sweet of you. Do you want to come in for a moment?"

Charlie stepped into the kitchen. "Charlie, this is Lady Thurgood, and Ainsley, this is Charlie Eckhart, Agatha's grandson."

"Yes, I believe we have met several times in passing," Lady Thurgood said.

"We have. Usually when I am here setting up the floral arrangements for the wedding parties."

"Of course, it is nice to see you again. How is your grandmother?"

"She is doing well. She was very excited to meet Molly here yesterday as well as Sherlock Holmes. She found it rather exciting, especially this time of year when life becomes a bit boring. Now she can't stop talking about the possibility of being in charge of making yours and Mr. Holmes floral arrangements for the wedding. She thinks you will make a beautiful bride." Molly blushed from the complement.

Just then Sherlock and John pulled up to the cottage as well. Sherlock paused to look at all the vehicles in front of the cottage, as did John.

"Well, what is all this?" Sherlock asked, entering the house. "Molly, you're supposed to be resting."

"I was," Molly said. "Lady Thurgood was kind enough to bring a large basket of food after Duncan told her about what happened earlier today. Then Charlie brought me yellow roses from Agatha."

"What happened earlier?" Charlie asked.

"Molly fell into a bog. It was very scary for her," Lady Thurgood explained.

"Oh wow. Are you okay?" Charlie said.

"Yes, all better now," Molly said.

"Thank goodness," Charlie said. "The last thing we need around here is another bride dying out on the moors. There will never be another wedding here ever again if that were to happen."

"Bride?" Sherlock asked. "Why did you call Molly a bride?"

"Well, I just meant, when the time comes for you and your fiancé to have your wedding. The whole village is hoping you will get married here when the time comes. After all, you're famous. The story that would be in the papers would make for great advertising."

"Yes, I suppose it would," Sherlock agreed. "Still, Molly is not a bride yet. No date has been set and not a single thing purchased in anticipation of a wedding." Sherlock wrapped a protective arm around Molly's waist. "I don't want to rush Molly into anything. I want her to have all the time she needs to be sure that she really wants to put up with me."

"I don't think Molly needs as much time as you think," Ainsley said with a smile. "From what I can see, and mind you I have been doing this for ten years, I think you two are going to be very happy together.

"Forgive me, I don't mean to be rude, but Molly really should be resting still," Sherlock said.

"Of course," Lady Thurgood agreed. "If you need anything just press zero on the phone. It will connect you to the house at once."

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

"Well, I best be off. Glad you are okay. Grams is looking forward to your next visit."

"I'll try to see her tomorrow," Molly said.

John closed the door behind their unexpected guests. "Apparently you are very popular around here," John teased.

"Poor Agatha is just happy to get to talk to anyone. She is lonely," Molly said.

"Lady Thurgood probably wanted to make sure we didn't sue her," Sherlock said.

"I don't know," Molly replied. "She seemed genuinely concerned."

Sherlock pulled back the napkin covering the contents of the basket. It was filled with high-end delicacies.

"Wow," John said. "Wine, cheese, caviar, bread, and cookies."

"It looks like the basket they probably give a newlywed couple who stays here." Sherlock determined.

"I think you're right," John agreed. "Still, it all looks pretty good to me."

Molly finally sat down on the couch to enjoy her tea. John poured two more cups of hot water and tossed in two tea bags. He then passed one to Sherlock before taking his own.

"So what did you learn from Father Clark?" Molly asked, tucking her legs under her. Sherlock tossed a blanket over her before sitting down beside her. "Sherlock, thank you, but I'm not cold anymore."

"I know," he said. "Still, it's probably best for you to not get a chill. As for Father Clark, he is very much grieving the loss of Veronica Marsh. They were in love and he was preparing to leave the church to be with her. Now that she is dead, he is staying in the church though."

"He asked us to keep his story private if possible," John added.

"I can understand that," Molly said. "How terrible. He lost the love of his life and has to pretend that she meant no more to him than any other parishioner. How sad to have to grieve alone."

"That's his choice," John said.

"I guess," Molly replied, still feeling terrible for the poor man.

 **As always, I am dying to know what you think!**


	12. Danger in the Night

**Chapter 12- Danger in the Night**

Sherlock and John were researching the victims phone records. He had managed to have one of his contacts email him the records. None of the victims' cell phones had been found. Sherlock had a feeling the killer had kept them as trophies, which was very common for serial killers.

"So far all the victims have calls from the florist shop, Father Clark, Lady Thurgood, and the same caterer from here in the village. None of that is surprising or out of the ordinary," John said.

"Agreed," but this call stands out to me. Sherlock pointed out a call made to Sarah. "This call right here is from Charlie's mobile, not the main line from the florist shop. It was made the day Sarah died.

"True," John said. "But there is a very logical explanation for that. Odds are Charlie was the one doing the deliveries and the set up. It is totally plausible that Charlie called Sarah to confirm a last minute detail. The call happened at 3:37 pm. That would have been after the church ceremony but before the reception."

"It's possible, but I still find it strange." Once again Sherlock was feeling frustrated. The truth was there just wasn't anything out of the ordinary to be found in the records.

"Finally!" Sherlock checked his email to see that Mycroft had finally sent him the records he had asked for. The records were very thorough. Sherlock would need to print them so he could make the best use of them. He liked his information to be spread out in a certain way. The visual input was necessary for his deductions. It was too late to go to town or the main house now and print them. It would have to wait until morning.

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

Molly finished rinsing the shampoo from Rosie's hair. She lifted the little girl out of the tub and wrapped her with a thick towel and started drying her off. She had offered to give Rosie her bath tonight while John ran out and got some takeaway. Molly had offered to cook but Sherlock was insistent that he wanted her to take it easy.

Molly was beginning to think that today's accident might have scared him more than it had her. Even now Sherlock was standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a funny grin on his face watching her. It was becoming a bit annoying really, but Molly didn't tell him to stop. Emotions were still new to him and she knew she had to let him process them in his own way. Still, she didn't want Sherlock to think of her as being fragile or breakable.

"You are very good at this," Sherlock said.

"You aren't so bad either. I have seen you take care of Rosie on numerous occasions. I dare say you interact with her better than you do most adults."

"That's because I know she isn't judging me in some condescending way, or thinking that I am a freak."

"You are not a freak," Molly said. "I admit you have your own unique way of doing things, but that does not make you a freak."

"You would be hard pressed to convince St. Donovan of that fact."

"She doesn't like you because you rubbed her the wrong way. Pointing out her affair in front of the other officers while at a crime scene doesn't exactly win her over."

"Who told you about that?" Sherlock asked. "That was years ago."

"Cops talk. I may not be one, but I spend a lot of time with them. Really, though, you are not a freak. You have an amazing mind. It works in ways that most people can't understand."

"I don't really care what others think of me. As long as you, John, and Rosie, know the real me, that's all that really matters."

Molly finished fastening Rosie's nappy and then pulled on her Winnie the Pooh fleece pajamas. She cuddled the little girl under her chin and made soothing circle motions on her back. She stepped over to the rocking chair and sat down with Rosie on her lap. Sherlock handed her the bottle that had already been warmed up.

Molly rocked Rosie while she fed her the nighttime bottle. Sherlock enjoyed watching Molly take care of Rosie. There was something right about it. He wondered what it would be like if he and Molly had a child of their own, but then the timing wasn't right. With Mary gone John really depended on Molly to fill the gap created by her loss. It wasn't fair for Sherlock to think about him and Molly having a child of their own just yet. Maybe a year from now would be better. Rosie would be older then, and they would all be more settled.

"Penny for your thoughts," Molly said.

"A penny! Please, someone of my intellect should at least be able to claim an amount far more substantial than that."

"Fine, if a penny won't do, then how about three kisses."

"Only three? I'm afraid you will have to do far better than that."

"My Mr. Holmes, but what an ego you have."

Before either one could say another word John entered, loaded down with bags of takeaway.

"I hope you are all hungry because I think we may have gotten a bit carried away when we placed our order," John called.

"You best go help him set up. I'm just going to finish feeding Rosie," Molly said.

"Does that mean I don't get my three kisses?" Sherlock asked.

"I think perhaps I will give them to you a little later, when we have a bit of privacy."

"I will hold you to that, Molly Hooper."

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

Molly was warm and comfortable. That was the first thought that came to her mind. She was burrowed deep under the covers and Sherlock had his arm wrapped around her waist. She could feel his warm breath upon the back of her neck as he breathed out softly. The next thought to cross her mind was to wonder why she was awake. She didn't need to use the toilet. She wasn't having an unpleasant dream. She was safe in the arms of the man she loved. She should be asleep, yet she wasn't.

She blinked her eyes several times trying to see the time on the small clock that was beside the table. It was 12:17. She was about to close her eyes and go back to sleep when she saw a shadow move across the wall. Wait? What was that? She stared at the wall for several minutes waiting to see if the shadow would reappear but there was nothing.

Molly sat up in the bed, the blanket falling to her waist, careful not to wake Sherlock. Something had awoken her but she had no idea what. She blinked rapidly, letting her eyes adjust. The room was dark except for a sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains, which were parted about two inches. The light illuminated the wall opposite the window, and that just happened to be the wall that the shadow had moved across.

She looked down at Sherlock. He was still deep asleep beside her, his arm now resting across her stomach. Molly wanted to lie back down, she was certainly still sleepy, but she had a feeling she couldn't explain. She picked up her mobile to confirm the time. It was now 12:19 in the morning. She put her phone back down.

She had just about convinced herself that she had imagined the shadow when she heard something. She listened intently trying to hear it again but the noise never came. She was sure it was a noise from outside. Suddenly Molly felt very exposed sitting in bed naked, her breasts visible to anyone who might be looking through the curtains, with only the blanket and Sherlock's covering her. Molly gently moved Sherlock's arm off of her stomach and slid out of bed.

She picked up the yellow nightgown Sherlock had tossed to the floor when he undressed her earlier. Also on the floor was her robe and Sherlock's own clothes, which had been quickly discarded when he claimed his three kisses, and then some. She quickly pulled on the robe and put on some underwear.

She padded across the room to the window and looked through the crack in the curtains. There was nothing out there that she could see. A gust of wind blew, making the trees overhead sway wildly back and forth. Maybe that's all she had heard, the wind. Molly shook her head at how silly she was for being scared of literally the wind.

She exited the bedroom and went into the kitchen where she got herself a drink of water. She looked out the windows at the snow covered ground and the moon shining down on it. It gave the world a silvery glow. It was beautiful. She was about to go back and join Sherlock when she heard Rosie give a whimper. Rosie was now sleeping through the nights but she figured she was probably off a little due to her schedule change. Molly quickly went up the stairs and entered Rosie's room. Rosie was asleep in her crib but fussing in her sleep. Molly placed a comforting hand on Rosie's back and rubbed it in small circles while making shushing noises. It worked like a charm. Rosie soon fell back into a deep and restful sleep. Molly smiled at the sight of her. She was so adorable. She tiptoed out of the room and quietly went back down the stairs.

Coming down the stairs Molly saw a shadow move away from the door. This time she was positive that she had not imagined it. The top half of the door was window with a thin curtain giving privacy, but the light reflecting off the snow had cast a shadow on the window. It had only been there for a second, but she was sure she had seen it.

She hurried down the last few steps and pulled back the curtain from the door. There was no one there but she was certain she had seen something. She looked down at the remnants of the snow from yesterday. She studied the footprints, trying to figure out if there were more than there should be. Unfortunately the footprints overlapped each other and they had been in and out so many times that there was just no way of knowing.

Without even thinking about what she was doing her hand reached up to unlock the bolt lock. She was about to unlock the handle lock when suddenly a large hand shot out and grabbed her to stop her.

"What on earth are you doing?" Sherlock demanded as he yanked her away from the door.

"My god, you scared me half to death," Molly gasped, her hand flying to her heart to help her calm down.

"Why were you about to go outside?" Sherlock demanded, placing his hands on her arms.

"I…I thought I saw someone," Molly said.

"So you thought you would go outside! Alone! In your nightie no less, and track down someone who could very well be a serial killer. What are you thinking?" Sherlock actually shook her slightly as he spoke.

"I…I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," Molly said.

"This man has lured four women to their death. You were about to walk outside and possibly make it five." Sherlock's voice was harsh and his grip on her arms was tight.

"Sherlock, you're hurting me," Molly said. Sherlock immediately released her and watched as she rubbed her upper arms where he had grabbed her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Forgive me. Just promise me, promise you won't wander off. What if something had happened? What if you walked out that door and I was still lying in bed asleep, not even knowing you were in danger?"

Sherlock couldn't stop himself. He reached out and pulled Molly into a tight embrace. Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock and buried her face into his bare chest.

"I'm sorry," Molly mumbled. "I'm so sorry." She placed her ear to his chest and could hear his heart racing. She had frightened him, badly.

"Stay here," Sherlock insisted. He released her and pulled on his coat. He was only wearing a pair of sweat pants and his Belstaff coat.

"You can't go out there," Molly said. "It's too cold."

Sherlock shoved his bare feet into his shoes. "I'll only be a second. Lock this door behind me!"

"Let's get John," Molly said. Now that Sherlock had pointed out the danger to her she didn't want him to go out alone either.

"No time." Sherlock said.

"No time for what?" John asked, coming down the stairs in his pajamas and robe.

"John, stay with Molly." Sherlock ordered.

"Where are you going?"

"Just stay with Molly!" Sherlock opened the door and went outside. Sherlock walked over to the Range Rover and inspected the vehicle. He saw nothing suspicious there. He then walked the perimeter of the house. He found what he was looking for. There, beside the window of his and Molly's room, were footprints in the snow. Someone had been spying on them. No, not them. Someone had been spying on Molly, the newest bride to come to Roane Hall. One thing was certain, whoever the intruder was, he was gone now. Sherlock turned to make his way back inside…back to Molly.

John opened the door for him quickly and then shut it behind him. Sherlock was almost knocked off his feet when the petite pathologist who stole his heart launched herself into his arms. Sherlock circled his arms around her and held her tight.

"What is going on?" John demanded.

"We had a visitor, tonight. There are footprints in the snow circling the house. Someone was spying on us while we were sleeping."

"Spying on us?" John asked. "Or spying on Molly?"

"I think we all know the answer to that question. After all, Molly is the newest bride to come to Roane Hall." Sherlock pried Molly's grip off and held her at arms length. "Molly, I need you to return to London. I want you on the next train out of Inverness. John will drive you personally to the train station and then return here to help me solve the case."

Molly was shaking her head no.

"Don't argue with me. The killer's attention has focused on you. I will not let you sit here and act as bait. You and Rosie will be returning in the morning."

"I don't want to go," Molly said.

"Darling, this is no longer a holiday or some kind of adventure. You are in danger. I was a fool for bringing you here."

"Stop it," Molly said. "I am not a child. I am not even your wife yet. You can't tell me what to do. Besides, thanks to the paparazzi everyone knows where I live. Am I really safer at my flat, all alone? Even if I stay at Baker Street, do you think Mrs. Hudson is enough to help me fend off a serial killer? What's to stop the killer from following me back to London?"

Sherlock was at a loss for what to do. Every fiber of his being was telling him to send Molly home, yet what she said was true. Serial killers, once focused on a target, were not likely to be swayed. She would be in danger whether she stayed here with him or returned to London. His feelings of helplessness overwhelmed him. He was in a situation where once again he felt like a rat in a maze, like back at Sherrinford. Without warning he pulled back his fist and punched a hole in the wall.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled.

John grabbed Sherlock's hand to take a look at it. He was bleeding from all four knuckles. "Molly, grab a towel from the kitchen and some ice from the freezer."

Molly nodded and hurried to follow his instructions. John led Sherlock to the couch and forced him to sit down.

"Sherlock," John said. "I need you to hold it together. Molly needs you to hold it together. She is terrified and looking to you to keep her safe." Sherlock didn't seem to be listening to him. Molly returned with the towel and a bowl of ice. John wiped the blood away and shoved Sherlock's hand into the bowl.

"Molly, can you go and check on Rosie. I thought I heard her cry when Sherlock pounded the wall."

"Uh, yeah. Okay." Molly looked torn but finally turned to go upstairs.

"Sherlock," John said, lightly smacking the detective across the cheek. "Hey, look at me." When he still didn't get a response he tried a new tactic. "Soldiers today!"

John felt a sigh of relief when he saw Sherlock's empty gaze finally focus in on him. Sherlock tried to pull his hand out of the bowl of ice but John gripped his wrist firmly and held it in place.

"Mate, I know Molly is your weak spot. I know her being in danger is the fastest way to make you lose it, but I need you, no, _she_ needs you to hold it together. Based on your reaction just now I am guessing that sending her back to London doesn't guarantee her safety. That means it's on us to keep her safe. Between the two of us we will make sure she is never alone."

Sherlock closed his eyes, took a deep steadying breath, and released it. "Thank you, John."

"That's what best friends are for."

Both men looked up to watch Molly come back down the stairs.

"Rosie is fine," she said.

"Thank you," John said.

Molly sat down next to Sherlock on the couch.

"Molly, you are not going back to London," John said. "You are going to stay here, but you are going to follow our directions. I know you are not a child, but you are in danger, and we have a lot of practice at doing this. So no going off on your own, no trying to protect us for whatever reason. Promise you will do whatever we say, whether you agree with it or not."

"What do you mean, whether I agree with it or not?" Molly asked.

"I mean exactly that. If we tell you to run, you run, even if one of us is in danger."

"But…"

"John is right," Sherlock said. "John and I can protect ourselves in a dangerous situation. You, Molly Hooper, are my greatest weakness. I can't do my job if I know you are in danger. Promise you will do exactly as ordered."

Molly leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. "I promise."

John examined Sherlock's hand. He gently pried the fingers open and felt each one. "None of them are broken, but they are going to hurt like hell. I need to bandage the middle knuckle. It is still bleeding quite a lot."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Then we all need to get some more rest. This needs to end tomorrow. We have to catch this bastard now."

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

Sherlock was up very early the next morning. He wasn't willing to waste any more time than necessary to solve this case. He called the main house on the landline. It was answered by one of the housekeepers.

"How can I help you Mr. Holmes?" the young woman asked.

"I need access to a printer at once. I have a great many files I need to print."

"I am sure Lady Thurgood would be more than willing to let you use Miss Lorna's office since…well, since no one else is currently using it."

"Thank you, that will work. I will be there shortly." Sherlock hung up the phone. He turned to look at Molly who was finishing her tea and toast. "Molly, please get dressed. I need you to come with me to the main house."

Molly knew he didn't really need her help. He wasn't letting her out of his sight.

"What do you need me to do?" John asked. He had just finished feeding Rosie breakfast.

"I need you to go to the funeral home and talk to Liam, the director's young, strong son. Where was he the night of the murders? Did he know any of the women personally?"

John gave Sherlock a look.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Shouldn't you be the one to question a suspect? After all, you are the one with the deduction thing. I think I would be more useful printing out all your files for you. Molly can help me."

"No! Molly will stay with me." Sherlock still considered Duncan a suspect. He knew John would protect Molly with his own life if necessary but he still wasn't comfortable leaving Molly behind.

"Fine," John said.

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

Molly climbed out of the truck and followed Sherlock into the funeral home once more.

"Oh, welcome back," Frank Drever said, looking up from his desk where he was doing some paperwork.

"Hello," Molly said. Sherlock just gave a quick nod.

"Mr. Drever, by any chance is your son Liam about?"

"No, he is currently at work. He's an accountant. His office is on the main street, right next door to the flower shop actually."

"Oh, that's perfect, I can pop in and visit Agatha. She is really wanting another visit," Molly said.

"I guess we can," Sherlock said. "But just a short one."

Sherlock's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the text from John.

 _Sarah Goodall, age 27, University of St. Andrews, taught in York, husband Jack St. Claire III, son of Jack St. Claire II who owns one of the biggest banks in London  
Jessica Mott, age 24, Cambridge, accountant for J&S Accounting Firm, engaged to Philip Trott, also an accountant at the same firm  
Veronica Marsh, age 31, married June 22, 2008, worked at Firefly B&B, volunteered at the cathedral  
Lorna Grady, age 32, University of St. Andrews, Personal Assistant, engaged to Henry Thorn, banker at JP Morgan ~_ _ **JW**_

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"John. He is just filling in some of the blanks." Sherlock passed the phone to Molly so she could read the text.

Molly read the text. For some reason she felt like she was missing something. Something here seemed familiar but it wasn't coming to her.

"Thank you for your time," Molly said as Sherlock turned to leave.

"Any time. Have you made any progress?" Mr. Drever asked.

"Some, but nothing definitive yet." Molly said.

Sherlock waited by the door for Molly to catch up to him while she said her good byes. After yesterday he would always be careful to not leave her behind again.

Back at the truck he opened her door for her and she slid into the passenger seat. Then Sherlock walked around the truck and climbed in himself. As he turned the key he said, "Molly, do you really need to see Agatha today? She can't provide any more information on the case."

"Yes, I made her a promise. I would feel terrible if I didn't keep my word and have a visit."

"It's just that I hate the idea of wasting time. I want this person found as soon as possible."

"How about you take me to Agatha's first. You can give the place a quick once over and then you go next door and talk to Liam and I will stay with Agatha and visit. Come get me when you are done."

"Molly, I am not leaving you alone for even a minute," Sherlock said.

"Do you really think an old lady is the serial killer? I will be perfectly safe."

"Agatha is most certainly not the killer, but her grandson Charlie is still on the list of suspects."

"Fine, if Charlie is there I won't stay. If Charlie is out I will."

Sherlock let out a long sigh. Why was Molly being so difficult? Her kindness and big heart was one of the things he loved about her but at the moment it was also being entirely annoying.

"Fine," Sherlock finally relented, but I will be checking the place out first.

"I would expect nothing less," Molly said with a smile.

 **Author's Note: Thank you to all who have left a review. I think there will only be about one or two more chapters left, and yes, our handsome consulting detective will have to save his tiny pathologist!**


	13. Discoveries

**Chapter 13- Discoveries**

Molly opened the flower shop door with Sherlock following behind. The little bell on the door tinged and a moment later Agatha appeared.

"Oh, how wonderful! Charlie said you would stop by today!" Agatha said excitedly. Agatha quickly walked up to Molly and gave her a big hug. "You poor thing! Fell through the bog yesterday. That must have been positively terrifying, especially since it is so cold!"

"I am perfectly fine now," Molly said. "Thank you for the lovely roses."

"I do hope you can stay for tea?"

Molly looked at Sherlock.

"Um, do you mind if I use your facilities?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not at all dear. Go on up." Agatha led the way. Molly and Sherlock saw that a tea service had already been laid out on the table. There were finger sandwiches, scones, strawberries, and biscuits.

"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," Molly said. She removed her long coat and set it on the couch.

"Oh, it's nothing," Agatha said with a wave of her hand. "Don't you look lovely? You are such a pretty young lady." Molly blushed, not used to receiving compliments.

Sherlock stopped to look at Molly. She was wearing one of the new dresses he had bought her. This one was a deep green that fell below her knees. It had a boat neckline and three quarter sleeves. The color brought out the gold flecks in Molly's brown eyes. She had finished the outfit off with a delicate gold necklace and a sensible pair of flats. She had left her hair long and loose today since there was no need to pull it away from her face for work. Agatha was correct. Molly did look very pretty.

Sherlock ordered himself to focus. He looked around the room and into the empty kitchen.

"So, is your grandson here?" he asked. "I didn't really get to talk to him too much last time."

"No, he's out with his friends right now," Agatha said. "He's been out so much lately, but then he is young and sowing his oats. Still, I worry about him."

"That's only natural," Molly said.

Sherlock climbed the stairs and began to look into the rooms. He made a point of going into the bathroom and flushing the toilet so Agatha wouldn't know he was actually snooping. Then he flipped on the light switch and popped his head into Charlie's room.

Sherlock's mind absorbed all the details at once. St. Andrews pennants were on the wall. A dirty St. Andrews sweatshirt was lying on the floor. A conversation from two days ago replayed in Sherlock's mind palace. He closed his eyes and listened to Agatha say the words, " _He's 27…he was studying history and literature…he wanted to be a teacher…he dropped out in his fourth year…"_

Then he replayed the words he had said to Molly on the train to Inverness.

 _"Serial killers usually work off a pattern. I would have thought the pattern was brides, or women in love, but the single mother stand's out. She clearly does not fit the pattern, so why her? Also, I will need to learn as much as I can about the first girl."_

 _"Why the first?" Molly asked._

 _"Sometimes, not always mind you, but sometimes the first is personal. The first might not have even been planned, but once done the killer realizes he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much in fact that he feels the need to repeat it, to relive the experience again and again."_

Next came the text message sent to him from John.

 _Sarah Goodall, age 27, University of St. Andrews, taught in York_

Sarah had been the first. Charlie knew Sarah because they were at university together in the teaching program. Charlie suddenly dropped out of uni, came home in a huff and locked himself in his room. What makes a rational young man getting good grades do such a thing? Having their heart broken of course!

Sherlock entered the room and began to search through the items on the desk, in the drawers, and on the bookshelf. A piece of paper sticking up between the pages of a book caught his attention. He pulled the book off the shelf and opened it. Inside were the newspaper clipping of the four murders. So Charlie felt the need to keep these souvenirs. Suddenly Sherlock spied the college yearbook. He grabbed it and began to flip through the pages. He found Charlie's picture quick enough. Charlie looked much different back then. He wore glasses, had longer hair, and was rail thin, hardly the muscular behemoth he was today. Sherlock quickly flipped though the book scanning the alphabetical names until he saw the one he was looking for. There she was, Sarah Goodall. She was beautiful, way out of Charlie's league. Sherlock flipped to the back of the book, reading all the signatures and well wishes. He skimmed them quickly until he found the one he was looking for.

 _Charlie, thank you for your help this year.  
You have been so kind to me.  
Love, Sarah_

So, Charlie had helped Sarah get through a difficult patch. He had been her shoulder to cry on. Charlie had obviously hoped Sarah would see what a great catch he was and would fall madly in love with him, but of course she didn't. She used Charlie for comfort, and then latched on to someone more handsome, wealthier, and more sophisticated. Someone, like the son of a man who owned his own bank, who could keep her in comfort and style.

Yes, it was all so clear now. Charlie would have been devastated when Sarah passed him over. So devastated that he left school and returned home. Then Charlie set about changing his physical appearance. He worked out, traded his glasses for contacts, changed his hairstyle, all in an attempt to make himself worthy of her, but he was missing the most vital thing that would have mattered the most, money.

Charlie spent years pining over the beautiful Sarah Goodall, only for her to show up here, in his hometown, to plan a beautiful and lavish wedding to someone else. Charlie had even called Sarah right after the wedding on her cell phone. A call had been placed after the ceremony but before the reception. That night after the reception Charlie would have shown up at the cottage. He would have gotten Sarah's attention. Sarah would have gone outside to get Charlie to go away, not wanting her new husband to come face to face with the man who refused to get over his crush. As Sarah told Charlie to leave, he would have finally snapped. Her betrayal of his endless love was all too much. He grabbed her by the neck to silence her telling him to go away for the last time. Sherlock could now see it all so clearly.

Sherlock tossed the clippings and the yearbook on to the bed. Next, he lifted up the mattress. There was nothing there. He walked around the bed to search the other side and again found nothing. He looked at the floor, the hard wood floor. Sherlock got down on his hands and knees and began to look closely for loose boards. He smiled widely when just thirty seconds later he found what he was looking for. He pried the two loose boards off the floor and found a shoebox that had been hidden in the floor between the bed and the wall.

Sherlock pulled out his handkerchief and lifted the lid off the box, careful not to contaminate the evidence. Inside the box he found three locks of hair. A simple piece of tape had been used to secure the locks at the top. Also in the box were three pieces of fabric, roughly six by twenty centimeters in size. All of them had frayed edges and were irregular in shape. The material had obviously been torn off larger items. Sherlock closed his eyes and visualized the crime scene photos. Suddenly he knew what he was looking at. Charlie had actually collected pieces of the women's nightgowns. One was white with little pink roses on it, the second was pale blue, and the third was plain white. The next moment Sherlock imagined a piece of yellow brushed cotton that almost joined the collection. If Molly had opened the door last night would a piece of her nightie be in the box right now?

Molly! Dear god, Molly! She was downstairs in the home of the serial killer. Sherlock raced from the room and bolted down the stairs, startling both Molly and Agatha.

"Good gracious," Agatha said. "Is everything all right?"

"Molly, we need to go," Sherlock said. "There is an emergency."

"Oh, John and Rosie?"

"I'm not entirely sure but we must be off. We will get all the details once we arrive." Sherlock grabbed her ivory coat and helped her into it.

"Must you leave so soon?" Agatha asked.

"Yes, I am afraid we must. Good day to you," Sherlock said curtly. He was already pulling Molly towards the door.

"Sherlock, my purse," Molly gasped. Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached back to grab the bag, spilling the contents all over the floor.

"For crying out loud," Sherlock grumbled. He quickly scooped up the assorted items and shoved them back into the bag and handed it to Molly.

"I do hope you can come another day," Agatha said.

"We'll see," Molly said noncommittally. She could clearly see by Sherlock's frantic movements that he had solved the case, and once revealed Agatha was going to be devastated.

Sherlock held Molly's hand in a firm grasp as he led her across the street back to the truck.

"It's Charlie, isn't it?" Molly asked.

"Yes."

They were halfway across the street when suddenly a white work van pulled out of the post office parking lot and floored it right towards them. Molly gasped and froze but Sherlock's reflexes kicked in at once. He grabbed Molly around the waist and physically lifted her feet off the ground as he whipped her around towards their truck and out of the path of danger.

Sherlock saw the gun being pointed in their direction and acted accordingly. Molly hit the ground first with Sherlock landing on top of her, shielding her with his own body. A gunshot rang out and Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his left arm. A second shot fired and Molly screamed when the bullet struck the ground mere inches from their heads.

Sherlock climbed off of Molly and pulled her along to the other side of their truck so they would have some cover. Luckily the white van raced off down the street and out of view without firing any more shots. Both of them were breathing hard from the adrenaline and the shock. Sherlock quickly turned to Molly to look her over. There was a small scrape on her cheek from hitting the curb, and the palms of both her hands were raw and bleeding. A long river of blood was running down her left leg from a large gash in her knee. Her ivory wool coat was covered in dirt. Other than that she seemed to be fine, though, clearly in distress as she was shaking like a leaf.

"It's okay," Sherlock said. "It's over. You're safe."

Molly shook her head in the affirmative and forced the tears swimming in her eyes not to fall. She took a deep steadying breath and then looked at him.

"You've been shot!" Molly cried. "Let me see!" She was pulling at his coat trying to remove the sleeve on his left arm. Sherlock removed the coat sleeve and then his suit coat. The sleeve of his white shirt was covered in blood. Molly quickly put her fingers in the bullet hole in the sleeve and ripped the fabric open to get a better look.

"It's just a graze," Sherlock said. The bullet had torn through his coats and shirt but only managed to graze his left arm. "It's not serious."

"Not serious! You were shot! We…we were…he tried to kill us!" Once again Molly was shaking. Sherlock used his good arm to pull Molly into an embrace.

"Do you two need help?" a man asked.

"Yes, please call the police. Tell them Sherlock Homes has solved the case. Tell them to come to the florist shop at once!"

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

Sherlock was sitting on the back of an ambulance while the paramedic wrapped his arm with sterile gauze. The sleeve of his white shirt had been completely cut away.

"Luckily you won't need any stiches. Just keep it clean and if it starts to look infected get to the doctor," the young woman said.

"No worries," John said. "I'm his doctor. I'll look after it."

Sherlock gently pulled on his coat, ignoring the blood and the bullet hole in the sleeve. He looked across the street to where Molly was sitting with Agatha. The older woman was inconsolable with disbelief and grief.

Molly had already had her wounds tended too. Sherlock had insisted the paramedics take care of Molly first. Luckily they were mostly superficial, except the gash on her knee. It had required three stitches, which John had already taken care of.

"How did Charlie know you were here?" John asked.

"That's obvious. He had been following us."

"But you didn't notice?" John asked.

"It's a small town," Sherlock said. "It was fairly easy to keep tabs on us without getting too close. Think about it, Charlie arrives to bring flowers to Molly while you and I just happened to be interviewing Father Clark. He was keeping tabs on us. Luckily for Molly Lady Thurgood just happened to be at the house when Charlie arrived, or he may have tried to kill her then."

A Mercedes pulled up and Dickey got out of the car. "You solved it! You really solved it!"

"Yes, but unfortunately our killer is still on the loose," Sherlock said.

"Who would have thought it would be Charlie? He has been to Roane Hall dozens of times to set up for the weddings, make deliveries, even arrange the bouquets inside the main house."

"That would explain a lot," Sherlock said. "He knew the layout of the house, the cottages, and growing up here he knew the moors, probably as well as Duncan."

"I get all that, but its still a shock to learn that someone you knew, someone who was in your home, is a serial killer."

"Dickey, Agatha is going to need a place to stay tonight, possibly for the next several nights since her home is now a crime scene. Can you take care of that?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, yes of course. Poor old woman, this is going to break her heart. Charlie was the only family she had left."

"Excuse me," Sherlock said and walked across the street. He made his way to Molly and Agatha, who was siting with her legs sticking out of a police cruiser.

"Agatha," Sherlock said. "I spoke with Dickey."

"Dickey?"

"Richard Thurgood. He is going to let you stay in the cottages at Roane Hall for several days. I will make sure to have the police get whatever you need from the house."

Agatha nodded her head as more tears slid down her face. "That's very kind of them, considering."

"Agatha, none of this is your fault," Molly said. "Charlie made his own choices."

"Can you think of any place Charlie might go to hide?" Sherlock asked. "It would be much better for Charlie to be captured safely, as opposed to him possibly trying to run, getting injured fleeing the police."

"I really don't know," Agatha said. "I know he sometimes hangs out with Duncan. He works at Roane Hall. Charlie had even tried to get a job working there. We don't make a lot of money here at the flower shop. I can't see Charlie going to Roane Hall, though. Duncan won't want anything to do with Charlie once he learns of this."

Xoxo xoxo xoxo

An hour later Sherlock, John and Molly returned to their cottage. Rosie was still with Ms. Poole. Sherlock had covered the sitting room floor with the files John had printed out. Also front and center were the crime scene photos of the dead women.

"What are you looking for now?" John asked.

"Something is wrong," Sherlock said.

"Well of course, Charlie is still on the run. That means Molly is still in danger until he is apprehended," John explained.

"Yes, but there is something more," Sherlock said. "Charlie kept souvenirs of all his kills. Locks of hair and even pieces of their clothing. Here, Sarah's nightie, Jessica's nightie, and even a piece of Veronica's blouse," Sherlock insisted, holding up the photos to emphasize his point, "but where is Lorna's lock of hair and her nightgown? Of all the women Lorna had the longest hair, half way down her back. She was also wearing the most luxurious nightgown. It was a beige silk. To a serial killer who had already committed three murders collecting Lorna's tokens would have given him the most satisfaction, yet he didn't, why?"

"Perhaps he was interrupted for some reason and ran out of time," Molly said.

"No, definitely not. Even if people here at the house had noticed her absence, he had already dragged her out onto the moor. He would have had plenty of time and privacy to cut a lock of hair and tear off a piece of fabric."

"Perhaps he stored them in a different location?" John offered.

"No, he would have needed the items close to him. Serial killers relive their kills by looking at their collections, fingering them when no one is watching. He wouldn't divide the collection," Sherlock insisted.

All further discussion was halted when there was a knock on the door. John opened it and in walked the Inspector, Dickey, and Duncan.

"Mr. Holmes, I am Inspector Berk. It is a pleasure to meet you." He reached out his hand and gave Sherlock's a firm shake. "I wanted to personally thank you for your assistance on this case."

"We wanted to let you know that Charlie is no longer a threat," Dickey said.

"You captured him?" John asked.

"I'm afraid Charlie pulled a fire arm on myself and Stewie as we tried to apprehend him in a shed near the kirk. He fired off three rounds. We returned fire and Charlie was struck in the chest. It was a fatal wound."

"Poor Agatha," Molly said sadly.

"At least the nightmare is finally over," Duncan said. "I've known Charlie for years. I can't believe he was secretly a monster. What he did to those women was disgusting."

Molly couldn't stop the slight shiver that ran through her.

Inspector Berk, Sherlock, John and Dickey walked into the sitting room to discuss the case further. Molly stayed in the kitchen. She didn't want to hear anymore. Duncan stayed in the kitchen as well.

"I heard Charlie tried to kill you and Mr. Holmes."

"He almost ran us over, and when that failed he tried to shoot us."

"You have been through a lot these last few days," Duncan said. "What happened on the moor, nearly killed in the middle of the road, and the scare you had last night."

"Yes, it has been rather frightening at times," Molly agreed. She sat down at the kitchen table and rested her hands on top of it.

Duncan also had a seat and placed his hand on top of hers. "At least you are safe now. Charlie is dead and no longer a threat to you."

"While I am glad to be out of danger, I feel so terrible for Agatha. I wish Charlie was still alive for her sake."

"You are amazing, Molly," Duncan said, giving her hand a squeeze. "He tried to kill you and yet you sit here and wish he were still alive. Most people would view his death as good riddance."

Molly pulled her hand away from Duncan and placed it in her lap. "Well, I am not most people. His death is going to cause Agatha pain for the rest of her life. Plus, his death means that the families will never have the opportunity to find out why and have their questions answered."

"True," Duncan said. "Still, I am sure that the families will take comfort in knowing that the murderer of their loved ones is now dead and gone from this earth. At least they have justice. Plus, I for one am glad to know Charlie can't hurt you now. You are too good a person to have suffered that fate."

Molly didn't want to talk to Duncan anymore. The way he touched her and looked at her was making her incredibly uncomfortable. She wished he would go away. Her eyes went wide as Duncan reached his arm over and ran his thumb across the scrape that was on her cheek.

"Is it very painful?" he asked. "Hopefully it won't leave a scar."

Molly shot up out of her chair, moving so quickly the chair actually fell over with a loud bang.

"Excuse me," Molly said. She turned to see all eyes in the room on her. She felt self-conscious and suddenly couldn't stand to have them all looking at her. She quickly walked to her bedroom and shut the door, not even bothering to pick up the fallen chair.

Sherlock looked at Duncan will cold hate in his eyes. He had missed what had transpired between the man and Molly, but he had no doubt Duncan had done something to upset her.

"Is she okay?" Dickey asked.

"Yes, she is just a bit shaken from today's earlier events," Sherlock replied.

"I can't say I blame her," Dickey said.

"I think we should wrap this up," John said. "The case is over. We will be leaving soon."

"The next train back to London doesn't leave until ten o'clock tomorrow morning," Dickey said. "Why don't you all come to the house tonight for one last dinner. I know Ainsly will want to thank you personally."

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. All he wanted to do was have a quiet evening with Molly. The three of them could watch crap telly and play with Rosie.

"Oh come on, please. My wife loves to have an excuse to entertain. She will want to hear all the details of how you solved the case. Plus, I can write you your check for the final amount at that time."

Sherlock sighed. "Very well." At least he wouldn't have to put up with the unwanted attentions of Angelica since she was still in New York.

 **Author's Note: Hmmm…why was there only items from three of the four victims in the shoebox? Stay tuned! ;)**


End file.
